tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26432751544896739292024-03-13T18:54:11.241-04:00Miles to the TrialsA blog dedicated to an initially average runner's attempt to qualify for the Olympic Marathon Trials. Full of candid descriptions of training and race experiences and easy to understand analysis of the current research on the science of running, training, and physiology.Rustyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16634471772166239315noreply@blogger.comBlogger197125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-66343751280856083342023-12-13T14:02:00.002-05:002023-12-13T21:20:23.127-05:00The Death of a Dream<p style="text-align: center;"><b>Part 1: The Race</b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I spent the last three weeks, the whole taper, focusing on my mental game. Qualifying for a third Olympic Trials (and setting a two-minute personal best) would be the hardest thing I’d ever done. I needed to get my mind right. I accepted how hard it would get and came up with strategies, mantras, smaller goals to get me through. I visualized the course; though the very act gave me anxiety about the suffering I was in for. Even if I wasn’t as physically ready as I’d like, I was mentally ready. And all that mental work started to convince me that I was ready physically: there was enough evidence to prove it was possible and not totally bonkers. </div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Race morning, I was surprisingly calm. (All things considered.) <i>I’m here. I’m ready. One step at a time.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then they delayed the start ten minutes. Anxiety starting seeping through cracks in my fragile façade. “This wait is killing me, I just want to get started,” I said to one of the many fit, elite strangers standing around. She gave a small smile, as if to say, get over it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Do <i>I want to get started? I just don’t want to be here, waiting, anymore. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Finally, the gun cracked. I immediately executed my four-word race plan: <i>Stick to the pacers. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But the pacing situation confused me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There were two, Phil and Tim. I had met Phil already, but he said he might go with a faster group if one formed. I didn’t dare go faster than 2:37, so I needed to stick with Tim. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>But who was Tim? And where was he? </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Pacer 2 looked exactly like Nick Willis. <i>But why would <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nick_Willis" target="_blank">Nick Willis</a>, a Kiwi 1500-meter specialist, be pacing a marathon??</i> About half a mile into the race someone said, “Hey Nick!” Pacer 2 responded in a New Zealand accent. <i>Right, so it </i>is<i> Nick Willis.</i> I tried to be grateful I was running with an Olympian <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">once again</a>. Phil mentioned there were actually three pacers, Tim was towards the front.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">His immense 1500m expertise aside, Nick did not seem to know what he was doing. He asked the guy who said hi to him how we were doing and the other guy responded, “a little fast.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But I had checked my watch, we were actually slow. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Why the heck was I checking my watch?!</i> I promised myself I would trust the pacers and not check splits. The benefit of having pacers is to not fret over the pace!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A little farther and Nick asked Phil how we were doing. “A little slow, but we’re okay,” said Phil. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Phil’s declaration that he might go faster than 2:37 scared me. But his calm confidence assured me I should stay with him. He knew what he was doing. When another woman told him we were too fast, I wanted to defend him. <i>The first mile was too slow! We’re making up for it! </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But also: <i>Fuck. It does feel fast. </i>Anxiety and stress bubbled up. Only two miles in.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I glued myself to the pacers: Phil and Nick. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The sheer size of the pack made getting in a rhythm hard. The bumping, the tripping, the kicking. Slipping on the slick middle line. Everyone already glistening with sweat. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiTeENOdHntXxakJB6DwegFQoZkjOTJystItgmDCXnJtyC_DAg5khJ8AMv2ERxaPIVqWDVzoA53wL9qPgzFy7GUfoMzlN2W-k7u1PpcTzcC-wLpKooW6n9m91b_TJCnLTk_h3EL5eAdG7wsMMGgOnoprC5bvyZfrn7BhX1u0b6G4WKyruf30iOk3fxzjj_/s1242/IMG_4858.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1242" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiTeENOdHntXxakJB6DwegFQoZkjOTJystItgmDCXnJtyC_DAg5khJ8AMv2ERxaPIVqWDVzoA53wL9qPgzFy7GUfoMzlN2W-k7u1PpcTzcC-wLpKooW6n9m91b_TJCnLTk_h3EL5eAdG7wsMMGgOnoprC5bvyZfrn7BhX1u0b6G4WKyruf30iOk3fxzjj_/s320/IMG_4858.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I tried to tune out and listen to the drumbeat of our collective footsteps. Tried to focus on the legs and rhythm of the person ahead of me. But while I was doing that, I inadvertently annoyed some dude behind me. “Get over and move ahead!” I tried to move aside, but also: <i>what the heck dudes? Can’t you see this is the women’s OTQ group, get out of our way! </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At mile four, a man shouted, “YES! Now we are on 2:37! Let’s go!” <i>Okay, fine. That dude is helpful. He can stay. Maybe that’s Tim?!?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He was with another guy, also hyping us up, both wearing <a href="https://banditrunning.com/" target="_blank">Bandit</a>. They seemed to be helping one specific woman, but that was fine by me, because they were indirectly helping us all. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Stick with Phil and the Bandits. Relax. One mile at a time. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was with them still. But I was not relaxed. At all. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgWt0MdfCrCamaDnb5Jkw0lWcnyw90XpcUnoBaQxGeapDLHs0AwEbNaZM6gvSqGM1ERVEQJOIBVHCrBNqbs30Q_E3avxkwa4H8SrVfdAz2KzslcZjbLAZfI9PEruYnTgTDG8SA0iSbe2vQnKbupH4eQEHigcW4dPiMibwS3Cfb7vxQnfRkGyMN8XTb8zw/s1255/IMG_4856.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1255" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgWt0MdfCrCamaDnb5Jkw0lWcnyw90XpcUnoBaQxGeapDLHs0AwEbNaZM6gvSqGM1ERVEQJOIBVHCrBNqbs30Q_E3avxkwa4H8SrVfdAz2KzslcZjbLAZfI9PEruYnTgTDG8SA0iSbe2vQnKbupH4eQEHigcW4dPiMibwS3Cfb7vxQnfRkGyMN8XTb8zw/s320/IMG_4856.jpg" width="211" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The anxiety was at a rolling boil. I knew it was too early to freak out, which made the freaking out snowball. I shuffled through all the distraction techniques I had practiced. None worked. It was like every door in my mind slammed shut. My thoughts immediately bounced back to the race. To the effort. To my spiraling mind. It wasn’t physically hard, but it was already way too hard mentally.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>I am not going to be able to do this if I’m already freaking out… </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Whatever, if I have to run twenty-six miles with this anxiety, I will. I’m still here. Still with the pacer. Another mile down.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At mile 7, I saw my husband. As I ran away from him, further down the road, I immediately regretted it. I wanted to turn around, to run back into his arms. <i>This is not going well. I am not going to pull this off. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0rgVU1Wo8t_ai2wqZklkEKPwmjIruV6a84uPB1arakOZCzifgl7ioLIHwWxhSaBBpmbnWuD7FA6eltgX-FhcKHzBRgfi9sYJxK-zqqSw7nHrSS7PPrE_B9A0qSGkia3L8I4gQ_vVefLfnZnkH8CYngRFVzNk5JJyHwfBKmMPUh1oFfJ9dqInEoc0IQTP9/s1259/IMG_4857.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1259" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0rgVU1Wo8t_ai2wqZklkEKPwmjIruV6a84uPB1arakOZCzifgl7ioLIHwWxhSaBBpmbnWuD7FA6eltgX-FhcKHzBRgfi9sYJxK-zqqSw7nHrSS7PPrE_B9A0qSGkia3L8I4gQ_vVefLfnZnkH8CYngRFVzNk5JJyHwfBKmMPUh1oFfJ9dqInEoc0IQTP9/s320/IMG_4857.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Physically I was fine. But mentally, I could not do this. I was overthinking too much. <i>Where did my confidence go? Why were all my strategies failing me? Why was I failing?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had told myself I could at least make it halfway at this pace (I had done just that <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2023/11/race-report-richmond-half-marathon.html" target="_blank">a few weeks ago</a>.) But I could not imagine making it farther. The part beyond that, that I had run twice before, that I had pictured every day for weeks, seemed too intimidating, too painful. I knew as soon as I ran past Rusty that I would drop out at my next chance, when I saw Dr. Lesko (the elite coordinator when I was on the Oiselle team and one of the nicest people in the sport) at the half. I could not fathom going further into the beyond, into the pain, than that. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Somewhere in mile 8, as I was accepting that I would not finish this, I slipped to the edge of the pack and then out the back. As always when you fall back, it seems like no big deal at first: <i>They’re right there, I can still catch up!</i> But then the gap keeps growing and suddenly they’re gone. A constant stream of others flew past. By mile ten (about twenty seconds over pace but the pack impossibly far ahead), I had given up entirely. <i>Get me out of this. Just get to Lesko. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I tried to tell myself if I made it to halfway on PR pace then I’d keep going. But no part of me believed myself as I made that promise. I did go through halfway exactly on PR pace, if I ran an even split. But I had no will or drive or fight to do that. I had slowed drastically in the last three miles. (And when I set that PR, on this course, I came through the half faster.) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As soon as I spotted Lesko, I ran off the course. “I’m done.” And I bawled: in her arms, on the curb, in my husband’s arms, all day long. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was over. WTF just happened.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><b><u>A quick intermission to catch up with the other characters in this story: </u></b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Nick Willis dropped out at 13. I saw him on the side of the road as I ran by. (Maybe that was the plan, I don’t know.) </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Bandit Pacers 1 and 2 also appeared to drop out early (perhaps also their plan). When I went to pick up my bag, I saw them hanging out near the finish, but none of the women had finished yet. (Which confirmed to me that neither one was Tim.) </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Tim, who I just Googled and realized I never saw on the day, started fast and was on pace until the last final stretch, but perhaps slowed to try to help stragglers. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Phil executed a beautiful, fantastic, evenly split race and dammit dammit dammit I wish I had stayed with him. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>As for the giant swarm of women ahead of me and around me in those early miles, which I estimate at about seventy-five, fourteen qualified. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Just fourteen. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Part 2: The Aftermath </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Years of dreaming of this—through pregnancy, postpartum, injury, cross-training, hundreds of workouts, ever since I first qualified and wondered how many of these I could make—and I gave up in an hour. One hour. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was over. WTF just happened. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All day long and through many tears, I wondered what happened. I had truly started to believe I could do it, that there was a reason I was there, healthy, able to line up with hope in my heart. <i>Why come all this way to fail? What was the point of this? All the time, the effort, the money spent. To fail spectacularly. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I gave up. Plain and simple. <i>Why didn’t I push through? Why did I allow myself to give up at the half? </i>As soon as I made that decision I slowed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A few hours post-race, tear-stained and moping at a brewery, I came up with two lessons to learn from this: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1. I was not, in fact, ready. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had one amazing workout and many great long runs but I was not running better than ever across the board, as I needed to be to achieve this goal. While I told myself I had the endurance, if not the speed, it wasn’t enough. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Marathons should feel easy from the start. When I ran <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/12/race-report-cim-2018.html" target="_blank">my PR at CIM</a> in 2018, I was repeatedly trying (and failing) to hold myself back in the early miles. When I <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">first qualified in 2014</a> (then a ten-minute PR), I was calm and relaxed for the first twenty miles. Last Sunday was not like that at all. Maybe the pressure got to me, but I tend to like pressure. I just couldn’t relax at that pace. I wish I could have turned my brain off—it was the fear of the pain <i>to come</i> rather than<i> current</i> pain—but I couldn’t turn it off. I couldn’t override my brain telling me, <i>This is not okay for this early</i>. Because it really isn’t okay. It should feel mostly easy in those early miles.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ26JLd8qVcTBExgpeWFKKu5W2MDOHmQimyZglY4A0Odvs_qNYvpc5K19Ab6YNCRaxM3QQw0jZj38UPaIP3d7u3UzjV0EnH1BRBcIyMSWkZGpNPQWpEwfnCE5547lIYiSaKanlUs0iWUG9ZAMgbsUKtFXtG-3jkiQ7ZSXoaXRQpkWP8_ziTnGyetG2OUGB/s2976/IMG_1839.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1984" data-original-width="2976" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ26JLd8qVcTBExgpeWFKKu5W2MDOHmQimyZglY4A0Odvs_qNYvpc5K19Ab6YNCRaxM3QQw0jZj38UPaIP3d7u3UzjV0EnH1BRBcIyMSWkZGpNPQWpEwfnCE5547lIYiSaKanlUs0iWUG9ZAMgbsUKtFXtG-3jkiQ7ZSXoaXRQpkWP8_ziTnGyetG2OUGB/s320/IMG_1839.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">2018 CIM, feeling a heck of a lot more relaxed.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wish I had another year, more time to feel relaxed at that pace. I wish I hadn’t gotten hurt last year. I wish I was tougher, more willing to stick with the pace until I fell over and could go no more. But even then, I don’t think I would have made it twenty-six miles. I wasn’t truly ready.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don’t regret going for it, despite that. I needed to know. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A part of me regrets not staying in and finishing, even when I knew I wouldn’t qualify. Not getting the medal, the backpacks and jackets they gave to all finishers. (But would I want one? I didn’t even take one of the participant shirts. I don’t need a memento from a heartbreak.) I regretted leaving all my water bottles behind, carefully planned with notes of encouragement. A super caffeinated gel that was sure to give me a boost at mile 13.5. I never got its jolt. Silly to regret bottles and gels left behind, but it’s effort not attempted, dreams abandoned. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I also never got the benefit of CIM’s infamous downhills. I dropped when the rolling uphills finally ended. But when I think about this course, in my mind it goes steadily up. I know it doesn’t. I know it’s downhill, that’s why we all fly across the country to race it, with OTQs and BQs and PRs on our minds. But the effort imprinted on me—even in two successful attempts that ended in PRs and OTQs—is that it goes up. Because that’s how a marathon works. The beginning is easy, light, relaxed, and then the effort gradually weighs on you. Until the last few miles feel like you’re running uphill dragging a boulder. I couldn’t handle the early miles. There was no way I’d make it through the tough part. I couldn’t have finished, especially as emotionally spent as I was.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t force it. But it’s not so easy for me to accept that. I hate admitting it. I tell people to believe and fight for it. And yet I didn’t. I couldn’t.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My whole schtick is dreaming big. By believing in yourself you can achieve unfathomable things. This gets misinterpreted sometimes as overly wishful, soft thinking. As if I’m ignoring the hard work you need to put in, the support you need, the heavy dose of good luck at the right moment.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Of course I know there are limits to dreaming big. Otherwise, I would wish myself into world record shape, skip right over the dang Trials and win the Olympics. (Wouldn’t we all?) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But I think those limits are farther out than most of us imagine. If we work hard and believe, we can achieve amazing things. Ludicrous, outlandish things that seem scary to say out loud.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What if we allow ourselves to chase those scary dreams? What if we put them out in the world, let people know how highly we view ourselves? What if we pair that belief with hard work, lung-busting workouts, hours of sweat pouring off us, exhaustion so deep we want to lay on the floor? What if we sacrifice “normal” things: mornings sleeping in, evenings going out? All because we truly believe we can be great.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And what if we fail? Did we not work hard enough? Did we not want it bad enough? Did we not believe in ourselves enough? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Or were we never capable in the first place?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Which is worse? To be delusional? Or to have given up?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And I wonder: am I still elite? Do I still belong? If I had a little more time, could I find that woman in me again? There’s a certain snobbery is pursuing a crazy goal. Thinking yourself good enough in the first place. But also, honestly, wanting to let people know when you made it, as if they had doubted you all along. I wanted to tell everyone—strangers, acquaintances, that <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/Cz7Ijx6vxYp/" target="_blank">old man at the gym</a>—that I made the Olympic Trials, for a third time. I wanted to get another sponsorship, to run and lounge around in free gear. I wanted to get into the pro field of big races again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Talk about humbling. Do I deserve to think that way? I’m not a qualifier. Not this time. I didn’t make it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Was 2018 the best I’ll ever be? Are my days of PRing over? As much as I try to ignore it and think about masters who are kicking ass, people keep reminding me I’m getting older. Subtly and not so subtly saying this is the end. If I accept I wasn’t ready for it now, how can I think I will ever be? When I’m over 40 and officially a master? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After thousands of miles to the Trials, maybe this is the end of this road. Where does that leave me?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGPn6nDkX0EErx9chdGojsjfgnfTc5mOflA0oFZ4UxEUaR6zgMg5BSX4apwbxvVMRnRaHomdoNRnsVqgg9b24kZErmkPyMtMz16oKwjEDKYCax0EDehKv_u9lHHVUscY2MNwNiawPV3eqrdp3mz5rGMn-XpygHCo_Xjsg78YPto9S0EVLhjppEGY8MIcY/s3000/UofR_TealBurrell-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGPn6nDkX0EErx9chdGojsjfgnfTc5mOflA0oFZ4UxEUaR6zgMg5BSX4apwbxvVMRnRaHomdoNRnsVqgg9b24kZErmkPyMtMz16oKwjEDKYCax0EDehKv_u9lHHVUscY2MNwNiawPV3eqrdp3mz5rGMn-XpygHCo_Xjsg78YPto9S0EVLhjppEGY8MIcY/s320/UofR_TealBurrell-1.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The 2016 Trials.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This brings me to the second lesson, one I know I still need to learn:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2. My identity should not be tied to this. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know that and I’ve read so many posts and thoughts from other women who realized somewhere along the way that they weren’t going to qualify for the 2024 Trials. I always envied their maturity, their acceptance. I didn’t have it. I know it’s not healthy to rest your identity as a runner on making one race every four years, but this is how our sport works. Qualifying for the Trials opens up sponsorship opportunities, assures entry into elite fields at other races, and is just damn fun and incredibly rewarding. It’s validating. It shows that the hard work was worth it; that the relentless self-belief was legitimate; that the time, effort, and money was well spent. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I’ve always said making the Trials is my version of making the Olympics, and it’s not lost on me that what I’m feeling is a fraction of what the pros feel. Our sport puts so much pressure and emphasis on making the Olympic team every four years, as if that is all that qualifies you as great. Those that don’t make it have to find that mature, accepting attitude where they acknowledge the cruelty of the whole system, of everything coming down to one day, of so few athletes actually making it. They are still amazing athletes, still the best in the country, even if that day doesn’t go how they want. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It’s a lesson I still need to learn. Maybe that’s what this is all for, to teach me that making the Trials isn’t everything. (Though even as I write that, I think, <i>Maybe if I learn that, if I gain that maturity and perspective, it will help me get back for 2028.</i> So, yea… I still need to learn it.) It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But… it also does matter. I loved pursuing this dream. Dreaming of 2024 as I shuffled along while pregnant, as I rehabbed postpartum, and as I tried and failed and tried and failed to get healthy. Getting out of bed early to flail around in the pool or drown in sweat on the bike. I loved even the miles I hated: in the dark, in the rain, in humidity that left me more soaked than rain. The hours spent on extracurriculars: yoga, core, lifting, rehabbing. Feeling validated in going to bed early, in learning to love beets and kale, of giving up those “normal” things. A snobbiness and righteousness that I secretly carried: if only you knew what I’m training for.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I loved having this focused goal, a hope that maybe I could make it come true. If I worked hard enough. If I believed enough. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I never made it to my destination, but I loved the journey.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I hate that it’s over. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlAdOJPXoMg21iC70SpClQ2rm-f-_jSV0CHfehAPu29O26A38xKUSrJrF-vDGpaQ66D_Cw-QPjeZp8Xn7pDYRluzKcQERzVjM1dUDjvIbBoqrDBRldKujDf5LY00G-DM3h6oRdQ40cNhQYPAl85Cr2cOAqWy0TDSP6gCPMV4hRqwc5H6cFT9VxEz4dvIX/s2048/i-fhqFn75-X4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlAdOJPXoMg21iC70SpClQ2rm-f-_jSV0CHfehAPu29O26A38xKUSrJrF-vDGpaQ66D_Cw-QPjeZp8Xn7pDYRluzKcQERzVjM1dUDjvIbBoqrDBRldKujDf5LY00G-DM3h6oRdQ40cNhQYPAl85Cr2cOAqWy0TDSP6gCPMV4hRqwc5H6cFT9VxEz4dvIX/s320/i-fhqFn75-X4.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The 2020 Trials. I made it to 2 Trials. Is that it for me?</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-13887227368614188562023-12-01T18:57:00.002-05:002023-12-01T19:01:17.195-05:00Trying to Keep the Dream Alive<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">During one of my last track workouts, as I fell off the pace, I realized I didn’t want to go to CIM. <i>It will be the death of a dream. I don’t want to watch it die.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But, <i>if I truly don’t want to do it, I wouldn’t still be here</i>: at the track, in the cold, mid-3K repeat. I would have quit already, gone home, gotten warm. Yet my feet continued to pound the track. I hadn’t stepped off, I hadn’t given up entirely. Not yet.</div><p></p><p>On the cooldown, I tried to talk myself back into fighting for this dream. My main disbelief comes from the fact that I have to run nine seconds faster per mile than I did for my last (and<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CzPj_GjLh7R/" target="_blank"> best, by far</a>) marathon pace workout. As I drove home, I listened to Des and Kara’s podcast. (Highly recommend! Despite this next bit…) They were discussing first marathons and bad marathons and, if they were a coach, whether they would tell their athlete to go out hard or conservative. Kara, my running idol, said that if you had trained at 5:20 and the pack went out in 5:15 it would be dumb to go with them. “That’s a lot of time in a marathon.” </p><p>Whomp, whomp. That’s exactly what I was trying to convince myself was not crazy. (For the record, Kara also admitted she’d probably go out hard regardless, because that’s how she races. Also, was she just talking about first marathons? Let’s hope so.) </p><p>Maybe the way to tell how bad I want something is to notice how bad I desperately hold on, despite the evidence. I feared watching the dream die, but I couldn’t let it go. What was the alternative? Giving up without a fight? </p><p>It wasn’t just that CIM would be the death of a dream, I didn’t want to go if achieving the dream wasn’t even an option. I don’t care about any other outcome. I could go for a PR, but even if I made it, I would be bummed I missed the standard. I’d wonder if I should have gone for it. I don’t even think I have the drive to go after “just” a PR, because that’s not where my heart is. When the race gets tough and I have to fight, I don’t think I would. Not for anything less than the original dream. I have to at least try. And if I fall apart spectacularly, have to drop out in agony, whatever, at least I will know I tried. I can miss my goal in two ways: (1) not even trying because I think it’s hopeless/too crazy or (2) going for it anyway and finding out for sure. I’m choosing the latter.</p><p>Once I accepted I was going to go for it no matter what, I had something to focus on during the taper: my mental game. I need to get better at arguing myself back into trying, to not giving up on myself, even when it seems impossibly hard. </p><p>I had to come up with my reasons why this isn’t crazy. </p><p><b>1. Sorry, Kara. <i>Advanced Marathoning</i> says it’s not stupid </b></p><p><a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">Back in 2014</a>, I thought I had to hit goal marathon pace in practice exactly, but I <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">proved in Pittsburgh</a> (and again at CIM in 2018) that I could run four seconds faster on race day than in practice. I didn’t believe that was possible until I did it. Maybe nine seconds is possible, especially with the help of the pack. </p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><i>“It always seems impossible until it’s done.” – Nelson Mandela</i></blockquote><p></p><p>And just two days ago, looking back through my much-bookmarked copy of <i>Advanced Marathoning</i> (trying to remind myself of what race day warmup consists of) I instead happened upon a post-it on a page about how if you have a pack to run with, going out 8-10 seconds per mile faster than planned is okay. </p><p>Which brings us to… </p><p><b>2. The power of the pack</b></p><p>A lot of my confidence and hope relies on the power of the pack. In Pittsburgh, despite being unsure I could make it when I didn’t run that pace in practice, I ran alone. I still made it. I run all my workouts alone, even the <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2023/11/race-report-richmond-half-marathon.html" target="_blank">half marathon</a> a few weeks back. Having a group to work with, to not constantly fret over the pace, is a huge advantage I don’t usually have. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi00hVT3Nklg8Hf1BgDsMvpWBbPdJmh1Ssgo40CymnmQBL2DApPiGPbcmdNIzmo0t-HtKbVqyGnJ51vdnv9fkgpZhhOv6nOtzjR86ndgALPoyks9LCt4wcYH9sJuV1cdbsnnRV1tYXuYgKl6mdWD-d095KUW08Dci3pMuOsi3Y35wDPLfecrBe8MD9J4YNV/s2816/IMG_5165.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="With the pack in 2014" border="0" data-original-height="1880" data-original-width="2816" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi00hVT3Nklg8Hf1BgDsMvpWBbPdJmh1Ssgo40CymnmQBL2DApPiGPbcmdNIzmo0t-HtKbVqyGnJ51vdnv9fkgpZhhOv6nOtzjR86ndgALPoyks9LCt4wcYH9sJuV1cdbsnnRV1tYXuYgKl6mdWD-d095KUW08Dci3pMuOsi3Y35wDPLfecrBe8MD9J4YNV/w320-h214/IMG_5165.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With the OTQ pack in 2014</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The benefit of having a pacer is well studied and undeniable; world records fall with pacers. The only time I’ve ever run with a pack was in 2014, at CIM, when I first qualified. <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">It was an immense help.</a> This time will be harder, the task greater, the pace faster. But I’m a more seasoned athlete now. Back then I had to take ten minutes off my PR, I had to prove I was an athlete good enough to qualify. Now I just have to prove I still am. And just take off a measly two minutes.</p><p>Now, about those two minutes... </p><p><b>3. I fight harder for big, meaningful goals. With deadlines. (That happen to be this weekend.)</b></p><p>I’ve thought about CIM in 2018, when I set my current PR, a lot. The <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/12/race-report-cim-2018.html" target="_blank">last 10K was ugly</a>. How am I going to fight through that this time? And run faster than I did then? </p><p>I talk a lot about having big goals and I also come up short a lot. But when the goals really matter, when something big is on the line, something that matters even more than a PR, I have an extra fight. CIM is the last day to qualify for the 2024 Trials. It’s my last shot. There’s no giving up in the middle and thinking I’ll be back another day. In 2018’s CIM, I was going for a PR, but the time was flexible (I wanted to run 2:38, or break 2:40, or just get a PR, I already had my qualifier secured) and so when it got ugly in the last 10K, I didn’t have as much fight as I would if those times meant something more. </p><p>And finally: </p><p><b>4. The trajectory is trending up</b></p><p>This year has been unlike any other. I was on crutches in January and yet somehow ran near my best ever by November. I feel like I am on the upswing more than ever, like my fitness and breakthroughs are coming at an alarming rate that I’m not used to. Who knows what I’ll be capable of on Sunday. </p><p>....Still, it’s going to be hard as shit. </p><p>Going into a race is willingly walking towards torture. (<i>Why do we do this??</i>) You know you are in for hours of suffering, of forcing your body to push through exhaustion and pain, or battling your mind as it goes to the deepest, darkest, ugliest places. It’s terrifying. </p><p>I’ve been reminding myself that its only about two and a half hours of pain, after four years of dreaming of this, working toward this, running through pregnancy and the postpartum period (wishing I could be in this shape), of biking and swimming and elliptical-ing through injury (wishing I could be this healthy). Thousands of miles, hundreds of hours spent working my butt off when I could have been sleeping in or relaxing. In the grand scheme of everything, suffering for a couple hours is a drop in a bucket I’ve already filled. What’s another 2.5 hours? It’s worth it. Otherwise, I may spend hundreds of hours regretting I didn’t go for it, I didn’t give it my all. </p><p></p><blockquote>“If you had one shot, one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted in <strike>one moment</strike> a few hours, would you capture it? Or just let it slip?” --Eminem, Lose Yourself... mostly</blockquote><p></p><p>I’ve been visualizing the course and the race. I’m reminding myself that it will be hard. The hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m adding to my mental arsenal of mantras and quotes and strategies to call on. I’m really focusing on what I’m going to do when I want to give up, when the pack starts to slip away. I’m picturing those moments, and how I’ll respond. </p><p></p><blockquote>“You want to spend all your time thinking about what you’re going to do, not what’s going to happen.” – <a href="https://theathletic.com/5052866/2023/11/14/northern-arizona-cross-country-dynasties/" target="_blank">Mike Smith, NAU coach</a></blockquote><p></p><p>It’s going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I can do it. I am capable. </p><p>Every time I’ve gone into a race trying to qualify, I’ve qualified. </p><p>Every time I’ve gone to CIM, I’ve PRed. </p><p>Time to try to make it 3 for 3. Time to try and keep this dream alive.</p><p>Keep dreaming big, </p><p>Teal </p><div><br /></div>Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-21508435771467070502023-11-17T09:09:00.000-05:002023-11-17T09:09:32.997-05:00Race Report: Richmond Half Marathon<div>I started the Richmond half marathon thinking I might finally be able to get a PR, after five years of struggle. Not all the workouts indicated that, but I focused on those that did, and tried to stay positive. The weather was perfect and race morning (navigating the start/porta potties/bag drop, fitting in my whole warmup and drills…okay, <i>some </i>drills) went off without a hitch (a rarity). A perfect day.</div><div><br /></div><div>I got a little panicky around mile 2. The pressure of the pace, the race atmosphere, the distance, often gets me really anxious early on. I don’t love that this race starts with a 2.5 mile straight shot down Broad Street—admittedly a weird thing to say because that seems like a great, easy start—but it makes me feel like we’re <i>starting</i> forever. Those first miles feel long. </div><div><br /></div><div>Somehow, I put the panic aside (turning off Broad helped), reminding myself I was right on pace. I was doing fine. I saw my wonderful family cheering at mile 4 and was all smiles (still on perfect pace). I told myself to break up the race into 5 miles, 10 miles, and the final 5K. “Just get to 5 miles on pace.” Nailed it.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyLutsdWjRF0FCzLv5kYuT6AIVKG7-SlmIUz-WYy0bc4D03e6TqJEuxdn6s2bJZz_ZnFIQlBVv3sstaTp-pGA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>I knew my 10K split from when I ran my PR here in 2018, because it’s actually my 10K PR. (Maybe I should have gone after that much softer PR instead…) If I could get to the 10K around the same time as I had back then, I would know I was right on it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Instead, everything fell apart. </div><div><br /></div><div>First of all, I was caught by the woman I thought I had put away on the bridge around mile 3. Now I was in third. Then the sixth mile marker came. I had been running consistent ~5:55s. Mile 6 was 6:10. I cursed, loudly. What the heck just happened?</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Here’s what happened: we ran the wrong way through the park. I suspected this when I looked at my Garmin afterwards. GPS watches aren’t perfect and mine is often off by 0.01 or 0.02 per mile, no biggie. (I turn the automatic laps off when racing, and press the lap button when I pass an official mile marker. This usually helps, since GPS watches get gradually more and more off as the race progresses. It backfired here.) This mile was 1.07, which seemed like a lot. Sometimes mile markers are in the wrong spot and a long mile is followed by a short mile, but not here. My Garmin map looked wonky, didn’t match the official course, and I suddenly remembered a sharp turn that had felt unusual when we were running. I put it to Instagram and yep: a lot of people ran the way I did. (Everyone? Not one person replied saying they went the correct way.) Many people had similar experiences to mine, they were on pace and suddenly they were quite a bit off. But of course many others told me I shouldn’t have let it affect me so much. We all have slow splits sometimes. Move on, get over it.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>I didn’t get over it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I didn’t know any of that then. I knew (1) I had just gotten passed and (2) I had slowed significantly. (I hadn’t slowed at all. My watch shows that my pace actually picked up in this stretch.) </div><div><br /></div><div>As I was trying to figure out what the heck just happened, we also passed two significant landmarks: (1) the water stop where I had dropped out a year ago, with the rock where I sat and cried that I was officially injured and done for the season. I thought passing this would feel like victory, like getting revenge on an ex. “Screw you rock! I’ve moved on! I’m doing better than ever!” Instead, I suddenly wanted to drop out again. </div><div><br /></div><div>(2) The 10K marker. There were people cheering and a water stop, so I couldn’t see the time until I was right on it. Another cold dose of reality. Twentyish seconds off where I needed to be. </div><div><br /></div><div>This was a lot to process in the span of roughly a minute. Competition flying by, slow splits, memories of failure, realizing I wasn’t doing what I hoped. </div><div><br /></div><div>Next up: the biggest hill on the course. </div><div><br /></div><div>(Spoiler alert: mile 7 did not go well.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Much later, when I realized that mile 6 wasn’t quite right/I hadn’t slowed, I berated myself for letting it get to me so much. Why hadn’t I just done what I had promised I would and put that mile behind me? Move on to the next one. Try to get it back. Sometimes mile markers are off. But I never <i>assume</i> mile markers are off (unless the next split is ridiculously fast: “Ohh a short mile, the other one must have been long, thank God!”). Almost always it’s my fault, I slowed. And so I assumed that again. (Also, here the 10K split unconsciously confirmed correct mile marker placement.) I gave up a lot in this section. Other runners were entering the park as we were leaving and I got so many cheers (thank you!!) but I felt awful. I wanted to tell them, “No, I’m falling apart, I can’t catch that girl, she just caught me. I’m not going to PR. It’s not the day I wanted.” This is not the attitude I promised myself I’d have. And when the mile 7 split came and it was also slow, I was not in the least surprised. </div><div><br /></div><div>Again, mile 7 is right in the middle of the race and contained the biggest hill on the course. It was probably always going to be a slow one. But none of that mattered. I was going dark. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinVppcH66D-0gt13svRpWICwaKfAkVGBtPC9wOc_5wWEojYuetj8VpIqZYM_RD2-hsg7A4_IV80lpo-lW2HJFJaOi-2HAXlqpVH117qcnrmAiqTemrgpDipByU4mi-YR8qdxmLsnWZKttCCgaApZJj2VrjZpv6XPPlQUq8bl2-FPICGjOzP3gEjKDr4pX2/s2048/IMG_7050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinVppcH66D-0gt13svRpWICwaKfAkVGBtPC9wOc_5wWEojYuetj8VpIqZYM_RD2-hsg7A4_IV80lpo-lW2HJFJaOi-2HAXlqpVH117qcnrmAiqTemrgpDipByU4mi-YR8qdxmLsnWZKttCCgaApZJj2VrjZpv6XPPlQUq8bl2-FPICGjOzP3gEjKDr4pX2/s320/IMG_7050.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 7</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I did try to get it back. Told myself to just get a mile under 6 minutes again. But I knew my goals were out the window. Instead of finding a positive spin, a way to tell myself a PR was still possible, I was again thinking about dropping out. (“When I see my kids next, I’ll just pull over and hang out with them… Nope, not a good look, Mama. Gotta at least finish this, however slow.”) I was thinking about how I wouldn’t bring my whole family to CIM (something I had been debating). CIM wasn’t going to be the celebration I envisioned: OTQing out the window, PRing out the window. Down the dark spiral I went. </div><div><br /></div><div>I did at least, keep running. I finished the thing. And I did, with every mile, tell myself to get back under 6 minute pace. Though how much I fought for that, I don’t know. The only mile I did get back under was the last one, which is (1) the final sprint and (2) wildly downhill. I just glad it was over.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I finished, a volunteer immediately thrust an award in my hands. “Congratulations, you were fourth place woman!” I hadn’t even caught my breath yet.</div><div><br /></div><div>But wait, wasn’t I third? I said that, out loud, and not very kindly. “I thought I was third!” It was one of those moments where you’re not really upset at what’s in front of you (I don’t care about third or fourth). It was the time that crushed me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I walked away and fell on the grass crying. It was over. I had an opportunity to prove my fitness, to get a PR after five long years, and I didn’t do it. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was (is) so obvious my goal of OTQing at CIM is delusional. I keep thinking about what coaches say about being realistic about your fitness, about not forcing a sport that needs patience, about not going out at a pace that is much faster than what you’ve done in training. How can I be in PR shape when I can’t even run close to my old PR in the half?</div><div><br /></div><div>As I walked through the finish area, in tears, thinking about how all my dreams were out the window, my hope lost, many kind runners tried to pick up the pieces, strangers and old teammates alike. Charlie Ban, of notorious DC running fame, told me exactly what I needed to hear. “You don’t give up yet! You don’t give up til it’s over.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Hang on. That sounds familiar… </div><div><br /></div><div>Didn’t I just write that on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CzPj_GjLh7R/" target="_blank">my own dang Instagram</a>?</div><div><br /></div><div>“But, <strike>Charlie/</strike>pessimistic Teal, I just ran 13 miles at the pace I need to run for DOUBLE that in a few weeks.” </div><div><br /></div><div>But … hang on, hang on. Wasn’t that Instagram post about how I ran a 7-mile tempo run at 6:08 pace and then ran more than double that (16 miles) at the same pace <i>five days</i> later? </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe this was a final marathon pace workout! Okay fine, it was a race and not a workout, but I was still alone. Charlie reminded me I do this the hard way (all my training, even this race, all alone). At CIM there’s going to be a huge pack, all doing exactly what I need to do. </div><div><br /></div><div>“Get on that train and hold on,” said Charlie. This half made me think getting on that train, going out with that pack, was completely bonkers, a suicide mission. </div><div><br /></div><div>But. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can’t give up until it’s over. I have the taper to shore up my confidence and mental game. </div><div><br /></div><div>And on December 3, I try again, for another PR. Kamikaze style. </div><div><br /></div>Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-16687385235769058172023-11-03T08:53:00.000-04:002023-11-03T08:53:06.347-04:00Fumbling for the Switch<div>I feel myself giving up on this dream. Imagining the finish, the women celebrating OTQs, I am picturing other women, not myself. I am accepting how to get over the fact that I won’t make it. Trying to come up with other goals that are still worth fighting for.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is self-preservation. My mind trying to have an admittedly healthier attitude to my goals. I know that they don’t matter, that my family loves me no matter what, that my self-worth should not be based on running an arbitrary time within an arbitrary window. That factors like weather and sicknesses will always be out of my control. </div><div><br /></div><div>In the words of Laura Green: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CiiAazarcgt/" target="_blank">no one cares</a>. Whether I make it or miss it by many miles, no one cares. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I care. </div><div><br /></div><div>I do this for me. Really and truly me alone. I know it’s a selfish habit and in times of guilt I try to rationalize it (it makes me healthier, happier, more energized, a better mom, etc. etc.) but truly I do this because I love it. Because I want to see how fast I can be. Because I love that “holy shit I can’t believe I just did that” finish line moment. Because I want to believe in myself again. Because it does add to my self-worth and makes me feel good about myself. Because I love the training, even when it’s not going as well as I like. I love starting my Wednesday with a “medium" long run (what any rational person would call a long run) and feeling slightly exhausted but also fulfilled all day long. </div><div><br /></div><div>There are days, months, years where it breaks my heart. The heartbreaks have been racking up the past couple years. I’m desperate to hang on to this goal because I don’t want to admit my best days may be behind me, that I’ll never get to the level I was once at, that I’ll never line up at a Trials again. Age catches up to all of us eventually, I don’t want to believe it’s already caught me. But it’s been five years of struggle. (Admittedly, having a baby took more than 2 of those years.) And annoyingly enough, I don’t appear to be getting any younger. </div><div><br /></div><div>Still, I love it. I care about it an unhealthy amount, I know that. But I need to care, or I’ll give up. </div><div><br /></div><div>There’s a switch that needs to be flipped on race day and hard work out days. You have to think it’s super important in the moment or you’ll give up. The marathon is so grueling that there will be a moment where it’s overwhelming, it’s too much, you want to give up, give in, not care. Your mind is begging you to slow, even slowing your body down against your will. You need to fight back, you need to care about it like it’s everything in that moment. As ridiculous as it sounds, it needs to seem like life or death to push yourself to new depths. You need that adrenaline, that belief, that unreal power that allows someone to lift a car off a child. Your brain will seize on any crack in your armor, any speck of “this doesn’t matter.” It will compromise, give in, and give up. </div><div><br /></div><div>But then you cross the line, stop the watch, end the workout, and it needs to not matter anymore. Flip the switch back. Running doesn’t matter in the real world. Leading into big workouts and race day, the switch needs to be on “unimportant” or the anxiety and pressure will be overwhelming. Moreover, the switch probably needs to stay like that—nice and chill and comfortable—until mile 15 or 18 or so, until that moment of reckoning, or you’ll be too stressed to run relaxed. </div><div><br /></div><div>But… </div><div><br /></div><div>HOW?! How to flip the switch at the right moment? How to not care that much, to let it go, until that last moment? And how to run fast from the beginning—nice and chill and relaxed, but also <i>fast</i>—if you’re trying not to care? This last bit is the struggle I’m having in my workouts. Trying to relax and take it mile by mile and let the fast pace come to me… but when it doesn’t, and the times slip, how to stay engaged and fighting? While also relaxing so you’re not forcing it? I want to force it. It seems my only chance. But I know that’s not how this works.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuudanq0hjH-fIbj9ojs7aM7BybLjJ_rLBuSLlUlS6dCHK9SC9UR6agtU0NfAcwWbam9JNgX07RPxCmWDcPp_Hyv_Gj2Ft2G214C4cJrggTgiK8h9swWFMRw62TDnv81YnjjTQXE5phjoiAVS00ntvDOBPwsUuLfmvh_WbxDopxQ048iexPXYDCcl_9yJV/s1036/IMG_4762.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuudanq0hjH-fIbj9ojs7aM7BybLjJ_rLBuSLlUlS6dCHK9SC9UR6agtU0NfAcwWbam9JNgX07RPxCmWDcPp_Hyv_Gj2Ft2G214C4cJrggTgiK8h9swWFMRw62TDnv81YnjjTQXE5phjoiAVS00ntvDOBPwsUuLfmvh_WbxDopxQ048iexPXYDCcl_9yJV/s320/IMG_4762.jpeg" width="256" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to channel this finish line fight... <br />even when the finish line isn't in sight.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>If I put too much pressure on myself, I’m not likely to run well. But if I give up on my goals now, I’m not going to run well either. I wonder if my recent workouts going poorly is me giving up: too many years of struggle, too many doubts seeping in, too many excuses. My mind trying to preserve itself. </div><div><br /></div><div>The pressure I put on myself seems astronomical but it’s because I want it. I know no one else cares, I know it doesn’t matter. But it matters to me. I think I thrive under pressure: I need that do-or-die reason to fight. I can feel myself trying to let it go, starting to let it go, and maybe that is healthy. But the part of me that is still grasping on, knows I need to grab it with both hands and hang on like life depends on it. (Even though I know it doesn’t.) </div><div><br /></div><div>I need to believe or I don’t stand a chance. </div><div><br /></div>Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-36231084732336185002020-03-18T15:19:00.001-04:002020-03-20T14:21:50.667-04:00Race Report: 2020 Olympic Trials <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before I get into any of my usual rambles, I need to say thanks to Atlanta Track Club for doing an absolutely phenomenal job putting on the Trials. Every detail was planned out with the athletes in mind. They made it easy to get in touch leading up to the race and on race weekend provided all our meals, hotel rooms, and a super special <a href="https://twitter.com/jauntingjourno/status/1234512077387128833?s=20" target="_blank">commemorative poster</a>. The volunteers' enthusiastic, eager-to-help spirits made me feel like the entire weekend had been staffed by Trader Joe’s employees. The personal fluid stops—with 3000-plus individualized bottles—got a <a href="https://www.runnersworld.com/news/a30983357/hydration-stations-olympic-trials-course/" target="_blank">lot of press</a>, but on top of that they also had tables with small water or Powerade bottles and, I kid you not, volunteers cracked the seal on every single one so it’d be easier for exhausted racers to open them. Before the race <a href="http://www.saltyrunning.com/otqspotlight-burrell/" target="_blank">I was asked</a> if I would care if there <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/02/race-report-trials.html" target="_blank">weren’t t-shirts again</a> and said no, because they were so generous with everything else. Turns out there weren’t t-shirts and I <i>was</i> a little<i> </i>upset, but glad I had so many Oiselle Trials items as wearable mementos. (And after the race, my uncle’s friend literally gave me the volunteer shirt off his back! Told you the volunteers were beyond generous.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: inherit;">PRE-RACE SHENANIGANS </span></u></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Elite races often come with more to-dos than just picking up a bib and running the race: there are specific time slots to drop off bottles and a mandatory technical meeting (an hour-long presentation of rules and logistics, most of which you’ve already read in your email, but always concludes with at least a few inane questions. There’s sometimes helpful Q&A too, but the real draw—besides it being, you know, <i>required</i>—is spotting all your running idols. I sat a row or two in front of Molly Huddle and Emily Sisson, although they were not actually sitting together, weird since they are joined at the hip in my mind.) The Trials also requires uniform and shoe checks: USATF has ridiculous rules about the size of sponsor logos on Trials’ uniforms; it’s why you sometimes see duct tape on people’s clothes. The shoe thing was new this year, thanks to <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/sports/2020/02/09/nikes-vaporfly-shoes-changed-running-track-field-world-is-still-sifting-through-fallout/" target="_blank">recent controversy</a>, and involved an official using a small camera to measure the sole's thickness. They also warned us that the top three athletes might have to send their shoes for further testing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking of shoe controversy, Nike offered free Alphaflys (the newest and most controversial shoe) to every Trials participant. Despite breaking the cardinal rule of marathoning (nothing new on race day!), the marketing ploy worked as <a href="https://www.runnersworld.com/gear/a31180532/olympic-marathon-trials-shoe-count/" target="_blank">nearly a quarter of the field</a> wore them. (I didn’t wear them but did take a pair, which just shows I’m good at following rules but really bad at resisting free stuff. I’m ashamed of my Vaporfly purchases in the past and am hereby switching to similar shoes other companies are releasing. If you’ve tried any, let me know!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">On Thursday, after snagging my most expensive pair of free shoes ever, I went to a party hosted by CIM for everyone who ran a Olympic Trials qualifier there. (I still give credit to Pittsburgh <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">for my OTQ</a>, since it came first, but I ran faster at CIM <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/12/race-report-cim-2018.html" target="_blank">seven months later</a>.) We each got a photo tile of our finish and the opportunity to hang out with Meb. My daughter’s initials are actually M.E.B. (not intentional but an added bonus once we realized it), so when he walked in, I immediately—and in the most awkward way possible—ambushed him with, “My daughter’s initials are MEB!” Of course, he brushed off my awkwardness like the pro he is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Meb and MEB and me. <i>(Credit: Husband.)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">After that, all athletes were treated to dinner at World of Coca Cola. Mostly everyone was focused on carbo-loading, but I did snag an Olympic pin from 2004, which I loved since I’m such an <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BIv49WUhoQG/" target="_blank">Olympics nerd</a>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Friday (after free breakfast and Normatec boots in the athlete hospitality suite) I got to do a photoshoot with Oiselle. I caught up with <a href="https://www.oiselle.com/blogs/oiselle-blog/oiselle-otq-marathoners" target="_blank">Haute Vol<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">é</span>e friends</a>, Sally, and Dr. Lesko while Kara told us we all looked fierce as hell. (Is there a better pep talk than Kara freaking Goucher telling you that you’re amazing??) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6RnQLSw-M5voxgJcdHkTQ0zdFYt4HKa9RkEQiFnux-2nqIYiAdDCpaXNhqWJPZ0liaIfbihyphenhyphenxek1iCBOdug1dq38k1z5q4q5yZxctuN-dOxV79YGSzxbi3TNZF_8qluHRgLuQrAQaIAQi/s1600/oiselle_trials1007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6RnQLSw-M5voxgJcdHkTQ0zdFYt4HKa9RkEQiFnux-2nqIYiAdDCpaXNhqWJPZ0liaIfbihyphenhyphenxek1iCBOdug1dq38k1z5q4q5yZxctuN-dOxV79YGSzxbi3TNZF_8qluHRgLuQrAQaIAQi/s320/oiselle_trials1007.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Chatting with Oiselle's CEO, Sally Bergesen <i>(Credit: Julie Lowry)</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Squad <i>(Credit: Julie Lowry)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then I did a shake out with old GRC teammates (Kerry, Catherine, and Kristin, all <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/01/snowzilla.html" target="_blank">characters</a> <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/09/race-report-rock-n-roll-philly-half.html" target="_blank">on this</a> <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2015/05/" target="_blank">blog</a> who qualified), the technical meeting, more carbo loading and finally sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/02/race-report-trials.html" target="_blank">Like the 2016 LA Trials</a>, race morning was strange. I ate breakfast (bagel) when I woke up and lay around reading and watching TV before eating another breakfast (oatmeal) two hours before the gun. (Breakfast for both meals because those are foods I’ve eaten before races in the past.) I was strangely mostly calm about the race that morning and all weekend. Paradoxically, this feeling (which I’ve been experiencing more lately) makes me worried that I’m unprepared, like I haven’t fully accepted the race is happening. Physically I was certainly ready, but mentally I wondered. I’d done what I normally did, coming up with <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/Bv2iUF-BD-0/" target="_blank">three reasons why</a> I would succeed. (I came up with six!) But the lack of crushing nerves made me wonder if something else was missing. My mom guessed it’s because I’m a veteran (this is my 18th marathon; I started losing count at 15), which may be true but I still felt unsettled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Moments of anxiety did pop up of course; there’s nothing like being in a hotel with 700 of the fittest runners in the country to make you doubt your own ability. Like LA, being around all these skinny runners I recognized from the internet left me feeling inadequate. (I did really treasure the moments someone recognized <i>me </i>from the internet. To all the blog followers who reached out, thanks so much! Meeting you was a highlight of the weekend.) I tried to brush it off and remind myself: <i>I deserve to be here, too! I qualified just like everyone else.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I also told myself this was a race I could shine at. I get intimidated by people’s times at other distances but had to remind myself we weren’t running a fast half (or 10K or 5K, <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/07/race-report-2014-firecracker-5k.html" target="_blank">thank God</a>). The hills and distance catered to my strengths. And I was ready: I had trained on the hilliest routes I could find. I planned to run the first lap conservatively, to feel out the hills and the course. I’d get passed by possibly everyone, but that was okay. <i>I’ll catch them later</i>. I tried not to get my hopes up, but I suspected the hills I trained on were worse than the ones on the course. After a lap I’d know if that was true and if so, I’d pick it up for the second lap. I hoped to pick it up again on the last lap but more than anything focus on catching as many people as possible. I wanted to beat my seed (95) and hopefully also finish higher than I did in LA (72). In LA, I beat my seed by 45 spots, despite my oft repeated assessment that I am not a good heat runner. <i>I AM a good hill runner, so surely I can do better here. </i>The doubts did elbow their way in: <i>everyone is so much faster than in 2016!</i> But I tried to remember that not only was I faster too, this was my kind of race.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: inherit;">LAP 1: MILES 0-8</span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It started like every other race, a mass of fit bodies crossing the line, some trying to surge ahead. But most races don’t have 450 elite women, the <a href="https://runbunrun.com/2020/02/13/2911/" target="_blank">vast majority</a> of them with PRs only five minutes apart. (Has any race ever??) That surge of bodies had nowhere to go. The leaders set the pace, the rest of us stuck jogging in a giant mass behind. My watch read 7-minute pace. <i>Nothing to do except continue in the mass and try not to fall.</i> People fell. I watched as women jumped aside a few rows ahead and saw Kaitlin Goodman on the ground. She hopped up, grabbed her sunglasses and ran on. <i>Her sunglasses got knocked off? Jeez, that must have been a hard fall.</i> (<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B9K1j7AnO0M/" target="_blank">It was.</a>) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hit the first mile in 6:22, pretty close to my target. When I dared to look up from my own two feet (<i>don’t trip!</i>), I saw the leaders still weren’t far ahead. (They came through the first mile in 6:13.) As the road opened up a bit, women streamed by me and I had to remind myself to let them go. <i>Relax, even the leaders are taking this easy</i>. Reminding myself to be conservative led to overthinking: <i>Is this easy enough?? </i>My watch read low 5 minutes, confirming my Garmin’s inaccuracy in the downtown miles. <i>Ignore it.</i> My second mile was 5:58. <i>Downhill, but too fast. Relax and let everyone go.</i></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Mile 2 mass. I'm in the gold sunglasses </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">over Fulton's right shoulder. (<i>Credit: Dad)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Alongside our crowded mass slowly moving forward, the crowded mass on the sidelines emitted the most deafening roar I’ve ever heard. I wanted to look for family and friends cheering but I. Could. Not. Make. Out. Anything. But. NOISE. It was incredible. <i>Is this what Taylor Swift feels like walking onto a stage? (If the stage was somehow miles long...)</i> My brother and his family were the first I distinguished and, in my memory, this was at mile 4. After looking at photos and the darn course map (which I supposedly had memorized beforehand), though, it was actually just after mile 2. (Something about the loops of this course really threw me throughout the race, in a way that LA didn’t. I had to consciously think through what mile I was on the whole way.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hit the turnaround (mile ~3.5) and headed back downtown, the more uphill direction. So far, the hills weren’t bad but the wind blew at us relentlessly. At times I felt pushed sideways. Somehow my left foot kept getting blown into my right ankle, leaving scars afterwards. I’ve never been good at drafting and was embarrassed it appeared I wasn’t trying to tuck in at all, but my attempts didn’t provide much relief. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-EeMUdLDu8Kir3MjY2C5PKR5fOUn6Z7bBeOW_fMPK-nLehu63sqj8QiBVMshfzQhbeMZfJZmBAFq8vvezCYzXwF_w8DK-IjOvfIaMTf26fr4nxXlkFuBHJM2HYamNphRcFSZ_F9D5ge7/s1600/mile+5+dad+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-EeMUdLDu8Kir3MjY2C5PKR5fOUn6Z7bBeOW_fMPK-nLehu63sqj8QiBVMshfzQhbeMZfJZmBAFq8vvezCYzXwF_w8DK-IjOvfIaMTf26fr4nxXlkFuBHJM2HYamNphRcFSZ_F9D5ge7/s320/mile+5+dad+2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Mile 5. Finally able to recognize my parents in the crowd.</span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">(Credit: Dad)</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I went back through Cowbell Corner, Oiselle’s cheering section and the loudest part of the course. It was a wall of sound and I was Taylor Swift again every time I ran through it (six glorious times). Or maybe Lizzo, because those moments made me want to belt “Good as Hell” at the top of my lungs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just before I turned off Peachtree, I saw the men starting their way up the out and back. This confused the heck out of me. The organizers had said that they didn’t expect the men to catch the women until around mile 21. <i>If the out and back is about four miles long, they are only four miles behind me. Aren’t they going to catch me way sooner??? How embarrassing!</i> I freaked out without bothering to think it through or do the math. <i>I can already see them, surely they’ll catch me!</i> (Like I said, I was immediately super confused by this course. But spoiler alert: four miles is actually a long way to make up, even when they run much faster than you.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Around mile 6 I saw my sister cheering with a large sign that said “RVA loves <a href="https://www.richmond.com/sports/plus/richmonder-keira-d-amato-overcame-everything-life-threw-at-her/article_d0ccdbee-4288-588b-9a84-de813c11bbfb.html" target="_blank">Keira </a>and Teal.” <i>How the heck did she get that?? </i>(She <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BBv8tC6SoBK/" target="_blank">found a sign and made friends</a> last time, too.) There seemed to be people cheering for me every block. Sure enough, a few hundred meters later my husband and daughter popped up, a pleasant surprise since I hadn’t been sure where they’d stand. Just after that I grabbed my first water bottle: a purple one with Frozen characters on the side, an homage to my daughter. Apparently a little girl helping her mom volunteer noticed my bottles and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B9KtXS0njuS/?hl=en" target="_blank">tracked them down after the race</a>. (Pro tip: if you want your bottles recycled, go with Elsa.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At mile 6, I was in 286th<sup> </sup>place. The stream of people going by me had dwindled to a trickle and I started to catch a few people. I caught up to my teammate <a href="https://www.oiselle.com/pages/carrie-mack" target="_blank">Carrie Mack</a>, a badass runner who absolutely <a href="https://www.oiselle.com/blogs/oiselle-blog/carrie-mack-do-not-open-until-race-day" target="_blank">crushed</a> her last marathon. We ran together for a few miles and I was so glad to be side by side with her. Early on I told her to be patient — “A lot of these women will come back to us” — a reminder to myself more than her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHkBmJCJV0g7223Fy8OlOF-9AulxbKAdfUyv_fXhXTNodayPGzMZYLywLNrD04GIm7W5qi5g65cJ6QJbHbM4BoZk2sPvmY5NLPjMQqZIfcK6-8916nnE6j8ouFjr_m22vSU1OrQMFOo1R/s1600/cheer+everywhere+trials.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHkBmJCJV0g7223Fy8OlOF-9AulxbKAdfUyv_fXhXTNodayPGzMZYLywLNrD04GIm7W5qi5g65cJ6QJbHbM4BoZk2sPvmY5NLPjMQqZIfcK6-8916nnE6j8ouFjr_m22vSU1OrQMFOo1R/s320/cheer+everywhere+trials.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">With Carrie. <i>(Credit: Cheer Everywhere)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We headed back towards the start and I told myself I was right on pace (though I was possibly overthinking it all too much). Best of all, the hills were not as bad as the ones I trained on. The worst were just after the water stop in mile 7 and a long, gentle uphill towards the start of the loop (mile 8). <i>I am ready for worse. I can do this.</i> I averaged 6:16 for the first lap and was in 273rd place. <i>Start conservatively: check.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">LAP 2: MILES 8-16</span></b></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Helping my goal to drop the pace was the fact that the lap’s first few miles were downhill, so picking it up didn’t feel as drastic. Side by side with Carrie, we hit some splits around 6:05-6:10, the fast end of my goal. <i>This is great, I’m doing it!</i></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_Tcgy39hBPIyQ4k6C0juyKXSzMv2_YQMN38OMmicgBsDrhYJ-dj6ufYUUZp1yssasdTnbMrL2Dfb2HHn89wi7I80UICTVpFeNRMh5g9LRhcOGiN7Y40T6tXcwew5qCAdsC4V1fVHRnfG/s1600/mile+10+blake+2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1558" data-original-width="1113" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_Tcgy39hBPIyQ4k6C0juyKXSzMv2_YQMN38OMmicgBsDrhYJ-dj6ufYUUZp1yssasdTnbMrL2Dfb2HHn89wi7I80UICTVpFeNRMh5g9LRhcOGiN7Y40T6tXcwew5qCAdsC4V1fVHRnfG/s320/mile+10+blake+2.jpeg" width="228" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Mile 10. <i>(Credit: Brother.)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Back through the roar of Cowbell Corner, past my family stationed on both sides of the road, to the turn around and back towards downtown. I told myself not to worry the splits were fractionally slower on the uphill way back. <i>We had been fast on the downhills, we're averaging 6:10 this lap, it’s all going according to plan! </i>Around the halfway mark, Carrie got a few steps ahead. I should have gotten back next to her, but we had been going back and forth a bit so I didn’t consider it a big deal. But then the gap grew. <i>Regroup, get back with Carrie.</i> I didn’t. It’s my biggest regret of the race.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hit the half in 1:21:41 (on pace for 2:43:22). Before the race, 2:42 seemed doable if the hills proved reasonable. I was a hair slow, but with a plan to negative split that’s perfect. Yet despite logic (which was lacking for me this entire race) and everything I told myself before the race, the half split stressed me out. A seed of doubt planted itself: <i>what if I can’t do this? I’m not doing it! </i>I tried to ignore it and move forward. <i>I’m doing fine. This lap is faster. I’ve got lots left to give.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The fourth time going through Cowbell Corner’s insanity, I finally spotted my friend Megan. Dressed in head-to-toe Team Teal/<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B6OicnzHhbn/" target="_blank">BB Blue</a> with a teal feather boa to top it off, she was impossible to miss. And yet it took me four tries (two out and backs) to see her. <i>That </i>is how crazy the crowds were. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Cowbell Corner. Can you spot Megan? <i>(Credit: Julie Lowry)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Even after Carrie dropped me, I felt like I was catching people and maintaining momentum. I caught a small pack after we made the turn onto Edgewood (around mile 15). I led a bit, taking the wind but not minding because it gave me purpose and a dose of motivation. It didn’t last long and we broke up a bit as we headed to the turnaround at the end of the lap.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I averaged about 6:12 pace for lap 2; I had picked it up. I was in 194th.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia3lmIzE8abgQfZKQBdsIIdkB8jCZTByBIQ5mXVoQLZILN3E0IlPm0Lnqp4UVUU0qw98NZ0Polcfmo5_klvpisGeUMPmdtLEyyuV1JFoqNogFPVbuN-m_re0GgNssvwvOji-KT841nxGQk/s1600/jake.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="709" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia3lmIzE8abgQfZKQBdsIIdkB8jCZTByBIQ5mXVoQLZILN3E0IlPm0Lnqp4UVUU0qw98NZ0Polcfmo5_klvpisGeUMPmdtLEyyuV1JFoqNogFPVbuN-m_re0GgNssvwvOji-KT841nxGQk/s320/jake.jpeg" width="228" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The end of lap 2.<i> (Credit: Jake Tuber)</i></span></td></tr>
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LAP 3: MILES 16-26.2</span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Trouble hit at the start of the last lap. My mile 16 split (marking the end of lap 2) read 6:26 and I resolved to stop looking at splits from then on. (Mile 8 on the same stretch was similarly slow. I wish I had realized that then and not been so hard on myself.) As we rounded the turns at the start of the lap, which I couldn’t really remember even though I had made the same turns less than an hour before, a couple of the people I had recently passed went by. <i>What’s happening? I trained on harder hills; I am ready for this. I started conservatively; this last lap is my moment to shine. Why aren’t I shining, dang it?? </i>The wind and hills and doubts took their toll and my mentality fell from hanging on to my dream to settling for just finishing it. Another major regret. At one point I did realize with relief, <i>Hey, at least the men didn’t catch me! </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was ignoring my watch so I needed something else tangible to mark progress, to keep me in the game as much as possible. My last lap plan was to catch as many people as I could, so I decided to count. (Don’t worry. Like that old Adidas ad suggested, I didn’t count them <i>out loud</i>.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At times counting proved surprisingly difficult. As I approached a group, I’d try to remember what number I was on but then I’d be running side by side with someone for a bit and wonder: <i>did I count them yet or not?</i> And obviously I had to subtract when someone passed me. Before the race I told my brother to count my place on the last lap. (I knew the number would be too high before then.) I assigned him the task since he had counted in LA, when I was in about 100th. I figured it’d be a similar number this time. As I ran by around mile 18, he shouted “184” which made me both extremely embarrassed that I was so far back (<i>You thought you’d be top 100, ha!</i>) and feeling terrible that I made him count that high. (He had two first grade helpers, one who later told me she counted all 600 competitors.) I started counting before I saw Brother and so opted to just keep my tally instead of think about my overall (depressing) place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">13…14…15… nope, got passed, back to 14… 15<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Even though I didn’t look at my watch, I knew I was catching people not because I was picking it up, but because I was slowing slightly less than them. Catching people had been my biggest goal on the last lap, so ostensibly it was going according to the plan. But also, it wasn’t. I wanted to be fighting. Instead I was just surviving. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">33…34…35…</span></i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDaOpLI_23_RQpAXQ6kcTBhHcWDc9pcyx972zWRtCSBatGZ_qrVo4QPWfNyVYxgdSE575d7vYYDHrZ86rzr8MhT6j-djqxOl4NXGi4VA5GbK9lt_7dfqD6v0Trxt5hH2hgxCB2GdII1VT/s1600/oiselle_trials1327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDaOpLI_23_RQpAXQ6kcTBhHcWDc9pcyx972zWRtCSBatGZ_qrVo4QPWfNyVYxgdSE575d7vYYDHrZ86rzr8MhT6j-djqxOl4NXGi4VA5GbK9lt_7dfqD6v0Trxt5hH2hgxCB2GdII1VT/s320/oiselle_trials1327.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Near mile 21. Megan (and her boa) are in this photo, too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">(<i>Credit: Julie Lowry)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before the race, I told my coach to yell “There’s more there” on the last lap. That had been my mantra all season: to dig a little deeper and find more strength, more fight. Here was the moment to use it… and I couldn’t. I kept pressing forward but couldn’t find the fight to press harder. The place and time I had hoped for seemed too far gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I tried to remind myself this was the last time through, the last time up and over these hills. Except for the mile 7/15/23 hill, the hills didn’t seem that brutal. Still, they (and the wind) broke me in a sneaky, slow way by their pure relentlessness. I felt prepared, but here I was basically crawling.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmizRXTUe6Bu08KGz3vAMj7L3lC12wPKeFogHFmnp4Ow2nx5AOUrq2Mh2y1r0sOV7h5WHeDzqV3AGehqd8193KPj0TGCRjQPVgioJePPK1aKNYMAxJIBeppboqhVR5d1YGAj72Ov1ka7GE/s1600/halfway+%2528dad%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmizRXTUe6Bu08KGz3vAMj7L3lC12wPKeFogHFmnp4Ow2nx5AOUrq2Mh2y1r0sOV7h5WHeDzqV3AGehqd8193KPj0TGCRjQPVgioJePPK1aKNYMAxJIBeppboqhVR5d1YGAj72Ov1ka7GE/s320/halfway+%2528dad%2529.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Just after mile 21. <i>(Credit: Dad)</i></span></td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">45… 46…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, just after 23 miles we turned off the main loop and onto the final section: an out and back under the Olympic rings and then the last mile back to Olympic Centennial Park. My sister shouted I was 138th, revealing my tally to be pretty accurate, but from there it petered out. Counting became too hard; I think I counted 50 like six times. The out and back seemed too long, I could barely see the women making the turn. I did see Jordan Hasay going the other direction and was surprised to be only about a mile behind her.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCW_HLLcVLkmKvh3WdLByROxT1kNUCzUHlgSexcApFcEQ0sxBcQu3fbCK6qm5gINskyEDI5gdJTl0-jHWdFZg3Wz0GmLVBtL5_lhDic_m6hewqxcCiqxB1HYsR9u6lk8lF5kyaaiMhW-g5/s1600/OT+Marathon+2020++1640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1065" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCW_HLLcVLkmKvh3WdLByROxT1kNUCzUHlgSexcApFcEQ0sxBcQu3fbCK6qm5gINskyEDI5gdJTl0-jHWdFZg3Wz0GmLVBtL5_lhDic_m6hewqxcCiqxB1HYsR9u6lk8lF5kyaaiMhW-g5/s320/OT+Marathon+2020++1640.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Heading to the finish. <i>(Credit: Cheryl Treworgy, </i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">aka former WR holder and Shalane's mom)</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The course map showed the last two miles contained the worst three hills, but I couldn’t remember where exactly. <i>Is this hill one of them??</i> As I headed up MLK Jr. Drive, a volunteer (who turned out to be my uncle’s T-shirt-giving friend) told me just two more hills. <i>Thank God, only two more</i>. Finally, I crested the final hill and saw a sign for 800 meters to go. <i>An 800! I can do that.</i> Then 600, 400, 200 came pretty quickly. I found a sprint in the final meters and edged out two more women. Later I almost wished I hadn’t found a sprint, because it proved there <i>was</i> more there. <i>Why couldn’t I find that earlier, dang it?!</i> (<a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">Science reveals why</a>.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I finished in 130th place in 2:45:27, about 80 spots and three minutes slower than I’d hoped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u><b>THE AFTERMATH</b></u><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwOEb4b_VEK-rIjT3g1KcmdCqHKahXf0Iv8w3-B-Mvdt-Je343WEUTGm184XnYghqnc67DB1I5YQak1magVUAc4yMkV4b3fPeMXeGMg0jiKuMAlqZ0sIaAxC0iTXzgaKWXWKZYxNYQcU5f/s1600/i-fhqFn75-X4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwOEb4b_VEK-rIjT3g1KcmdCqHKahXf0Iv8w3-B-Mvdt-Je343WEUTGm184XnYghqnc67DB1I5YQak1magVUAc4yMkV4b3fPeMXeGMg0jiKuMAlqZ0sIaAxC0iTXzgaKWXWKZYxNYQcU5f/s320/i-fhqFn75-X4.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">"Everything hurts and I'm dying." <i>(Credit: Dad)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Every muscle had been fully pulverized and screamed in pain. Standing with my family at the finish line, I ached to lie down on the road but there was a real possibility I’d never get up again. Later in the hotel room, I realized there was nothing I could do, laying down hurt as much as standing up, so I might as well… go out and dance?? My family met for a big celebratory dinner and then Husband and I headed to the Oiselle party, where we stayed out later and danced harder than we have since we became parents. It was the most fun I’ve had in a while and it didn’t matter how badly my legs and pride hurt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gDSZt_OtXOJxEN7WCdqEQOaFN-9_FLX8L7We4bBka5uhyaiK4IQVxdSdVAtbvjVJ3FrtYKrYfB3PT0oqzUz-xCtEoJ9AADBIR3jdpg3U8aS7ae29Hat4SxF_FCnKEgjM8Opn7TvN9aW5/s1600/i-5WjxBf3-X4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gDSZt_OtXOJxEN7WCdqEQOaFN-9_FLX8L7We4bBka5uhyaiK4IQVxdSdVAtbvjVJ3FrtYKrYfB3PT0oqzUz-xCtEoJ9AADBIR3jdpg3U8aS7ae29Hat4SxF_FCnKEgjM8Opn7TvN9aW5/s320/i-5WjxBf3-X4.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Team Teal, 2020 version. (<i>Credit: Ben, another member)</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40hilRxsuw8Gu63wyHiC1IZ0qEFC6i5UEbNU_VDsP6j_9jNLfBBdXq71VPHGm9hnzd0VOYVSCR_b2orfFDojyH6xjDOTNpGPGsGDM0-4sOMM1sKQ5OVyCEOQRmTjj04rW5ZQllVZCYxUc/s1600/oiselle_trials1562.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40hilRxsuw8Gu63wyHiC1IZ0qEFC6i5UEbNU_VDsP6j_9jNLfBBdXq71VPHGm9hnzd0VOYVSCR_b2orfFDojyH6xjDOTNpGPGsGDM0-4sOMM1sKQ5OVyCEOQRmTjj04rW5ZQllVZCYxUc/s320/oiselle_trials1562.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">With Husband at the Oiselle party <i>(Credit: Julie Lowry)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Until the next day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I woke up to the realization the Trials are over. And they didn’t go how I wanted. I truly thought I’d finish much higher than I did. <i>Why couldn’t I at least run my seed??</i> I regretted not staying with Carrie. I regretted not pushing more that last lap. I regretted settling, as my C goal was basically to do anything but that. I regretted not starting my finishing kick earlier. But it’s over now, and as much as I want to, I can’t go back and rerun it. When I saw friends and teammates at the finish upset by their race, I tried to comfort them and tell them what an accomplishment it was just to be here. The next morning I realized I needed to hear those things myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Husband, Daughter, and I flew straight from Atlanta to Mexico. (Well, with a layover in Orlando, where <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B9Pd_6mnHFy/" target="_blank">my bag got lost</a> and I rode a plane with too many drunk spring breakers, but I digress.) The three of us haven’t been on a vacation together before and Husband and Daughter deserved a heck of a celebration for supporting me so much over the years. Mexico was amazing of course (beautiful weather, beautiful views, beautiful endless margaritas and chips and salsa…), and I tried to stay in the moment, suppressing thoughts of the Trials that kept popping up. If I thought about it, I knew I’d start crying (<i>It’s over! I can’t redo it!</i>) and I couldn’t waste vacation time wallowing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If I search for positives, Atlanta unexpectedly made me realize maybe I did better in LA than I thought. Ever since 2016, I’ve been bummed at my place and blamed the weather. Turns out I may have handled it better than I thought. Maybe in a few years I’ll look at Atlanta and realize I did better than I feel now. This time I finished 130th out of 390, in the top third of the deepest field in Trials history. In LA, I was 72nd of 149 finishers, only the top half. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The sadness isn’t only that I didn’t race how I hoped: it’s also that the experience is over. The star treatment, the parties, the hype: it’ll be four more years before it comes around again. That’s tough to think about. But if it’s anywhere close to as special a weekend as this one was, it’ll be worth the wait.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBWebPOr7KWMsm3xtCceeyuFVwInFRC9amhYqHyXDIjtiv_DAGOHueVmTZ8ZiHB1sd-zoCoZaGlJxSh1XP0gVKhJcf9IdjpYL0UKMm3b-6itZ9ev5y4KIUfW-v_i5RdVPc2xmc1sFVx4mh/s1600/i-MSnG4MN-X4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBWebPOr7KWMsm3xtCceeyuFVwInFRC9amhYqHyXDIjtiv_DAGOHueVmTZ8ZiHB1sd-zoCoZaGlJxSh1XP0gVKhJcf9IdjpYL0UKMm3b-6itZ9ev5y4KIUfW-v_i5RdVPc2xmc1sFVx4mh/s320/i-MSnG4MN-X4.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dream big,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Teal </span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-25454354250552284962020-01-31T17:10:00.000-05:002020-01-31T17:10:32.699-05:00Race Report: Houston Half 2020In December of 2018, I crested a new peak of my running career: I set a slew of <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/12/race-report-cim-2018.html" target="_blank">new PRs</a> and finally found my way back after <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/05/a-new-starting-line.html" target="_blank">having a baby</a>. Surely it’d continue; the longer away from pregnancy, the better I’d get. Right?<br />
<br />
Wrong. Instead, 2019 found me tumbling down the side of that mountain. I thought the spring was a slump, but then I slipped farther down in the fall. I wondered about <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/06/blood-test-fails.html" target="_blank">iron levels</a>, burnout, general stress. I tried new things: stepping away from the marathon, getting a coach, treating myself to massages and sports psychology sessions. I kept hoping things would change, something would click. But as I started training for the Trials, I realized I was in possibly the worst shape of the last six years. <br />
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Back in the fall, I signed up the Houston half marathon as a fun tune up for the Trials with a big field of other qualifiers. After last season's <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/12/race-report-richmond-half-marathon-2019.html" target="_blank">goal half </a>went poorly, a part of me thought Houston (which is flat and fast) might be my chance for a PR. But then I continued to stagnate.<br />
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A week before the half, Coach Latter had me do ten miles at marathon effort on a flat course. Yes, the Trials course in Atlanta is a <a href="https://www.atlanta2020trials.com/course/elevation-chart" target="_blank">roller coaster</a> but I needed a confidence boost more than anything. I’d been trying to go into workouts with the mentality of just giving my best on the day, whatever that meant, because. really what else can we do? Armed with that attitude, I started relaxed, despite being more than a little doubtful of my ability to hit the splits Coach suggested. <br />
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But then… I felt great. It was like God had simply lifted the weight that I’d been dragging around for the last year. I ran fast without killing myself doing it. My average pace tied my best ever for this kind of workout. (Though I’ve gone farther at that pace, it was later in the season.) It was the best workout I’d done in over a year. <i>Is it possible that instead of being in the worst shape of recent memory, I'm actually in… one of the best??</i><br />
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I didn’t know what that would mean for Houston: <i>which version of me will show up? The Teal of the last year? Or this new, effortless one?</i> I knew I had to adopt the same attitude as I had before the workout: not put too much pressure on myself, give what I could and see what happened. I called it my <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B7WpxMqH6Tm/" target="_blank">attitude of curiosity</a>. My loose goal was to go out around 6 flat for 5 miles, see how I felt and go from there. If this new Teal showed up, I’d try to knock it down to 5:55 for the next five miles. Then assess again at ten and give whatever I had left.<br />
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This attitude made me unusually calm. The humidity that choked Houston the day before lifted, so the only weather concern was the wind. I told myself wind didn’t matter, there was no pressure on me to hit a certain time anyway.<br />
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In the first mile or two, I found myself side-by-side with another woman, clicking off just under 6:00 miles. We realized we both planned on 6-flat, so worked together for the next few miles. (I didn’t want to jinx myself by confessing hope that I’d pick it up at some point.) I kept missing mile markers (in the whole race, I only saw half of them), but the splits I saw showed we were ahead of pace. My running partner said mile 3 was 5:52. I felt good, relaxed and effortless, but tried not get ahead of myself and to back off to 6 flat until we hit 5 miles. <br />
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One of my Oiselle teammates, Shari, caught us a little before 5 miles. She confessed also missing mile markers (it wasn't just me!), but clearly felt good. I debated going with her but felt loyalty to my 6-flat friend. Plus, we hadn’t made it to 5 yet. <br />
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Fortunately I actually saw the 5 mile marker and knew it was time to go. I told the girl with me that I was going to go for it (“But you might see me later!” if my plan backfired. <i>Yikes, would it?? No, I felt good.</i>) I figured I could catch Shari and work with her. In the meantime, I was in no-woman’s land, but no matter. I was having a great race, I was back! <i>Maybe I can even PR!?</i> I even broke out in a smile a few times.<br />
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I hit the 10K and tried to remember my 10K split from my <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/11/race-report-2018-richmond-half-marathon.html" target="_blank">half marathon PR</a>. In my optimistic state, it took a long moment to realize my split was slower, but I convinced myself I felt better. In that race I had gone out a little faster and slowed in the middle. <i>Today I started slow, held myself back, and now could go for it. A negative split: this is the smart way to do it!</i><br />
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I kept focusing on reeling in Shari. <i>Catch her before you see Dr. Lesko, so she can see us running together!</i> I didn’t. But I still felt good, even as I kept missing mile markers. My PR pace is 5:54 and miles 6-8 averaged that pace. By my math, it seemed I was knocking on PR territory.<br />
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After mile 8, we looped around a block and started heading north. Somewhere in that loop, Shari seemed suddenly out of reach. I caught others but, as the wind started gusting in our faces, I ran on alone, not wanting to tuck in and slow down. I figured I was still running well if I was passing people, but missed another mile marker. I didn’t comprehend how far off my PR pace I was until I saw the total time at mile 10. (Miles 9 and 10 averaged 6:02.) I reminded myself that mile 10 was another place to assess and dig deeper. <i>Surely I could still break 1:18! </i>But mile 11 woke me up to the reality a bit more: 6:05. <i>Yipes. What is happening?</i><br />
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Mile 12 finally turned us out of the wind (a 5:56 mile, though I don’t remember seeing that split) and I tried again to find another gear and really dig. <i>There’s more there!</i> The effort wasn’t getting me anywhere though, and I briefly felt like that old, frustrated, weighed-down Teal. Back in the city in the final mile, the wind knocked me sideways and the sun blinded me so I couldn’t quite see the finish or the time on the clock. I finished in 1:18:15. <br />
<br />
At first I was only a little bummed; that time was much better than I expected only two weeks ago! But then I realized I ran a nearly identical time last March and was <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/03/race-report-rock-n-roll-dc-2019.html" target="_blank">disappointed then</a>. Mostly I just couldn’t figure out what had happened: <i>I felt so good for so much of it! </i>It wasn’t until writing this I realized my early miles weren’t as fast as I assumed and how much the wind in the final miles slowed me. Immediately after the race I fretted like an older person looking back on her life, “Where did all the time go?”<br />
<br />
But there wasn’t much opportunity to mull the ephemeral nature of time: I had to get back on the course to cheer on the marathoners. It was the last day to qualify for the Trials and some friends and I knew people going for it. We cheered at mile 24.5 and I witnessed both old GRC and new Oiselle teammates qualifying. I also got to cheer on my friend to her first marathon finish and her sister to a new PR. We spent the rest of the day celebrating and the whole weekend reminded me of how much I love this running community, a welcome distraction from my own finish. <br />
<br />
Later I realized that even though the time didn’t end up being what I felt capable of midrace, the disappointment also represented hope. If the last year has been a slow tumble down a mountain, then maybe last fall I hit the bottom. And now I’m climbing out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve already crawled back to where I was last spring, which wasn’t so far from the top. I just need to keep climbing a little more.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Dream big,<br />
TealTealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-91800876709776934922019-12-03T15:59:00.002-05:002019-12-05T14:54:05.895-05:00Race Report: Richmond Half Marathon 2019Whenever I’m struggling midseason, I tell myself that it will all come together in the end. Friends and family echo the sentiment, because it has before: <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">CIM 2014</a>, <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">Pittsburgh 2018</a>, <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/12/race-report-cim-2018.html" target="_blank">CIM 2018</a>. Of course, there are also data suggesting the opposite: seasons that were resounding flops from start to finish, like this year’s <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/04/race-report-boston-2019.html" target="_blank">Boston</a>, Grandma’s 2015, and the <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/02/race-report-trials.html" target="_blank">2016 Trials</a>. As the Richmond half marathon, my peak race for this fall season, approached, some workouts supported the former, optimistic possibility. I wanted to believe it. <br />
<br />
Instead, with less than two weeks to go, it fell apart. <br />
<br />
At the end of an easy run, my Achilles started to tighten. Pretty immediately, it felt more serious than a random niggle that is forgotten by the next morning. As I watched the NYC Marathon with my Oiselle teammates, the tension in both my Achilles and my mind rose. <br />
<br />
I took the next day off. Inspired by a <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B4dM4lOHIDE/" target="_blank">comment</a> from teammate <a href="https://www.oiselle.com/athletes/carrie-mack" target="_blank">Carrie Mack</a>, I took the day after that off too, feeling hopeful it was one more day than I needed. My leg felt fine by then, and I wondered if I was being overly paranoid, perhaps a bit wussy. <i>Am I just making excuses? </i>The symptoms didn’t all match up with Achilles tendonitis, but horror stories from friends with Achilles injuries scared me. <br />
<br />
I ran the next few days; it was tight the first day, then eased up, but by the third day, it was back to nagging. I took Saturday (what would have been my last long run) off as well. <br />
<br />
The roller coaster of the week—<i>will I run or not?—</i>drove me crazy. I had the same feelings as <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2015/06/not-with-bang-but-whimper.html" target="_blank">before Grandma’s Marathon</a> in 2015, when I got a stress reaction 3 weeks before the race. In the week between feeling a potential injury and the diagnosis, I was a wreck fluctuating between trying to cross train/hold on to my motivation and trying to come to terms with the season possibly being over. Both times I just wanted to know one way or the other—<i>WILL I RUN OR NOT? SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME!</i>—and every day I woke up with a different gut feeling. More than anything, I didn’t want to compromise my training for the Trials (which was set to start after a quick post-Richmond break). If I raced, even if I raced well, and it set me back a few weeks, I didn’t think it’d be worth it.<br />
<br />
I couldn’t get an official doctor’s appointment until after Richmond, but my coach hooked me up with a PT who could see me informally (and quickly) and she diagnosed it as a calf strain, not Achilles tendonitis. That was a huge relief (less recovery time) and she told me if I spent the week cross training, I could still race. I elliptical-ed the next few days but did one last easy workout the Wednesday before the race, to see how it felt and make a final determination if I could race. My leg felt fine, but it was harder to hold the pace than it should have been. (Likely because I hadn’t run for days.) I cross trained the next day, with a quick 10-minute jog to try to get my body back in running mode. The day before the race I did my usual easy shake out, the only normal run of the last week. When I got home my husband asked, “Feeling fast and ready?” I replied, “Let’s just go with <i>able </i>to run.” <br />
<br />
That day, I realized my attitude needed to change. I was <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B4le2ZbnOAp/" target="_blank">grateful</a> to run, yes, but I was also making excuses, focusing too much on the training upheaval of the last two weeks. If I wanted to get the best out of myself, I needed to prepare myself like any other race, ready to give my all. I told myself the few days before the race had been pretty normal: a short tempo (<i>though it felt hard</i>… <i>shut up, pessimistic Teal!</i>), a day mostly off, and a shakeout with strides. The calf, for all my obsession over every sensation I felt there, seemed fine.<br />
<br />
I wanted to salvage the season right at the end, to prove all the work I’ve put in and changes I’ve made (working with a coach and sports psychologist) had an effect. I trained differently, so couldn’t compare to past seasons (possibly a good thing). <i>Maybe I’m in better shape than I think! Maybe the unusual last few weeks will leave me super tapered and super hungry!</i> Starting at 5:55 seemed reasonable and, in the place in my brain where hope and ambition run unfettered, I thought maybe I could pick it up later on. <br />
<br />
Race morning was cold (yay!) but windy (not so yay). For the first two miles, it blew directly in our faces. I tried to tuck in to a group, but as always the case with early racing, groups were still fluid, splitting and reforming left and right. Near the first mile marker, a man pulled up alongside me and a few others and asked what we were hoping for. I was the only one to respond, “5:55” and as I did we hit the marker in 5:54. “<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B4le2ZbnOAp/" target="_blank">Bang on</a>.” The man said he was shooting for 5:50s, but this was good for now. My main theory for my poor performance in <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/10/race-report-2019-us-ten-mile.html" target="_blank">Twin Cities</a> is that I ran alone and had no one to gauge off, so I was happy we formed <a href="https://tenor.com/view/alliance-dwight-shrute-jim-the-office-gif-11230239" target="_blank">an alliance</a>. But after another half mile or so my watch read 6:05 pace. Our pack held steady, other runners weren’t passing us, so I tried to trust the collective pack more than my watch. But no one else had mentioned their goals. After another quarter mile or so, I started to doubt the group and forged ahead. Mr. 5:50 came with me. We hit mile 2 in 6:05. <br />
<br />
For the most part, my sports psych efforts focused on not to berating myself when I hit a slow split. <i>Relax, breathe, let it go.</i> To my credit, I did that with that second split. <i>Fine, we just need to get in a better rhythm</i>. The wind somehow slammed us again as we made a right turn onto Arthur Ashe Boulevard and formed a new pack of maybe three guys and two other women. Mr. 5:50 beckoned us to share the work and I tried to do my part. I felt better when I was the one pushing and leading; I’ve honestly never felt like drafting helps me that much (Am I not doing it right?? Is the benefit so minuscule you don’t really notice it?) but I did appreciate the power of the pack and people to stick with. Mile 3 was 6:00. I wanted to scream, “We’re still going too slow!” But also:<i> Relax, let it go. Don’t tense up too much. Mr. 5:50 is still here, he’s fine with this. It’s fine.</i> <br />
<br />
As we turned down an out and back, our pack started to reel in Kate, a Oiselle/<a href="https://raleighdistanceproject.org/" target="_blank">Raleigh Distance Project </a>athlete. I wanted to pull her into our group, but instead somehow <i>I </i>got dropped in the move. My pack pulled ahead, with Kate a little off the back, and me all alone behind everyone. <i>What just happened??</i> Mile 4 was another 6 flat.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBk9bQyK6CEbqv40tatDP5KjHu69Q2wiF0H_-p2NbspQW0bccbIH9S94M_BTzOaw1PxQ9OLOw_pkxZLfyQpfwAKRqG8-ikB2S5jjrg69z3mH816GYe2b2VlZgulaYUT0FD1-GFpj1L_Mm/s1600/144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBk9bQyK6CEbqv40tatDP5KjHu69Q2wiF0H_-p2NbspQW0bccbIH9S94M_BTzOaw1PxQ9OLOw_pkxZLfyQpfwAKRqG8-ikB2S5jjrg69z3mH816GYe2b2VlZgulaYUT0FD1-GFpj1L_Mm/s320/144.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 4: <i>What just happened?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As we turned back onto Boulevard and headed toward the park, I caught Kate and told her we could work together. Mile 5: another 6 flat. (Did I notice or appreciate my consistency? I did not. Except to say running 6 flats consistently bummed me out.) As we entered the park Kate dropped back a bit. I felt good and like I could catch some of the people ahead, who had either been eaten up by my old pack or splintered off the back. The park is the hilliest part of the race, as soon as you enter it goes slightly up. But the main issue for me on that day was the potholes. (I actually had a temporary brain fart on the word “potholes” and distracted myself for a bit debating: <i>Is it potmarks? That’s not right…</i>Distractions always welcome midrace!) I felt my ankle wobbling: <i>Oh no, this is what does my calf in!</i> But then: <i>My calf seems okay, fine actually. </i>Paranoia brought more awareness of my ankle working than I’ve ever had, making me cautious and my stride feel awkward.<i> </i>(Like when you focus too much on one word and it starts to sound weird.) Still, I hit mile 6 in 5:56. <i>See, I’m feeling better.</i><span id="goog_972700044"></span><br />
<br />
But after a disappointing next mile (6:03), as we headed up the last uphill and out of the park, things seemed to be going downhill fast. Kate caught me and I couldn’t stay with her. If I have any big regret after a race, it’s almost always that I didn’t fight harder to stick with someone. As always, as Kate ran away I told myself to not let the gap grow, that I could still catch up. Instead, she became another regret: the ones that got away.<br />
<br />
And as always, the thoughts of dropping out came. <i>Why am I doing this if I’m just running slowly? </i>Usually I tell myself to continue because at least it will be a hard workout to help me later on in the season, but this was my last race of the season. It wasn’t going to help anything. <i>Am I risking hurting my calf just to have a mediocre race? </i>But truthfully my calf felt fine. <i>Am I just making excuses?</i> The pretty stupid reason I kept going: my clothes were in a bag at the finish. If I stopped, I’d have to find a way to get there and that seemed like a (very cold) hassle. I could stop when I saw my family around mile 10, but that seemed like the wrong message to send my daughter. (Even though, at two, I’m sure she wouldn’t understand or care.) <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqYGnXHxawac8Qhyphenhyphen4QlBMMXVYZVhoNLFkP08meCVcS-AJzJN3YB3qznX6WnF5gNQ40R0PJ1rHynhvZ7FpZRXpHKnTgX6dnxFe6UtCKgFb4C1YUC6oouGMb8sjOjiYY3dFM8yLnBOCrGHS/s1600/182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqYGnXHxawac8Qhyphenhyphen4QlBMMXVYZVhoNLFkP08meCVcS-AJzJN3YB3qznX6WnF5gNQ40R0PJ1rHynhvZ7FpZRXpHKnTgX6dnxFe6UtCKgFb4C1YUC6oouGMb8sjOjiYY3dFM8yLnBOCrGHS/s320/182.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "Another Disappointing Race, <br />
Guess I'll Just Try and Finish" Face.</td></tr>
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It seems like all year, when a race got hard, a make-it-or-break-it moment (<i>should I stick with that girl or let her go?</i>) I lacked the drive to fight. I feel like I can dig deeper in workouts than races (to be fair, workouts weren’t continuous 13-mile intervals). Realizing I once again didn’t have that fighting spirit, with 4 or 5 miles to go, was not a great spot to be. I told myself to get back into it: <i>The victory today will be not giving up!</i> At mile 10: <i>The victory will be making the last 5K my fastest!</i> But my mind and body didn’t cooperate with each other.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjV-m8dP7TayHPjHzYjnPVoma1mdLT48wgT0FlJACpSQa2ubAJMSIUwAf319EnLQBVqRULRoIqdrG9Y6WDfLCkCfTCoyFe-iMULtM5kb6C1RFSaq5t1aQ-SSBuoDLLMw_zItF3zl1apcnR/s1600/155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjV-m8dP7TayHPjHzYjnPVoma1mdLT48wgT0FlJACpSQa2ubAJMSIUwAf319EnLQBVqRULRoIqdrG9Y6WDfLCkCfTCoyFe-iMULtM5kb6C1RFSaq5t1aQ-SSBuoDLLMw_zItF3zl1apcnR/s320/155.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Around mile 10.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The last few miles are a blur of not really caring at the slower splits coming in (for those who do care: 6:07, 6:12, 12:11 for miles 10 and 11, 6:09, and 5:52 for the last downhill 1.1) and being heartbroken over this race, this season, this year. People passed me left and right and I couldn’t muster a fight. Earlier in the season, finishing in the top 3 was my goal. Lately, top 5. Through about 8 or 10 miles I was in the top 10. In the end, I finished a devastating 14th in 1:19:12.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWynCMa5g01xxnqI4wsCinNPmze_IRdyv5Gmnzyfy15LFRg5eH5FyoMJ7kQy2zKFqtoHx-_8s4ipHDiccbyevw7sNWKWphECpVuwXPb2HfbRSuaUSg5p4TupIIV6SMhUfzOnlQJubLD_j/s1600/IMG_2024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWynCMa5g01xxnqI4wsCinNPmze_IRdyv5Gmnzyfy15LFRg5eH5FyoMJ7kQy2zKFqtoHx-_8s4ipHDiccbyevw7sNWKWphECpVuwXPb2HfbRSuaUSg5p4TupIIV6SMhUfzOnlQJubLD_j/s320/IMG_2024.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last mile.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My time is an eternity from my preseason goals. Given my marathon time, I hoped to be knocking on the door of a 1:15 half and a 56-minute 10 mile. That seems laughably ambitious now. But I thought surely, with a season dedicated to those distances, I’d close the gap.<br />
<br />
Certainly the season didn’t end on the best of notes. I can’t be sure how much the calf strain affected me (<i>what would I have been able to do if the build-up had ended normally?</i>). But I can’t dwell on it too long. I have to find a way to get that fight back (and maybe an entire year of disappointing races is the fuel I need). Training for the 2020 Trials started yesterday. Time to turn the page.<br />
<br />
Dream big, <br />
TealTealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-46210642976010057602019-10-18T09:31:00.002-04:002019-10-18T15:31:03.862-04:00Race Report: 2019 US Ten Mile ChampionshipsAnalyzing <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/09/race-report-rock-n-roll-philly-half.html" target="_blank">Philly</a> led me to two broad conclusions: the weather sucked (thanks, Captain Obvious) and I got too anxious about it, trying too early to fight, flail, and force my way to a pace that should have come easier. Twin Cities Ten Mile would be different. First, the weather was down-right perfect, relieving some of the latter issue since worries about weather went out the window (into the fresh, crisp fall air). Also, I’d spent some time talking to a sports psychologist and working on ways to not get so tense and anxious so early in the race. As a bonus, I focused on being grateful to be there. Twin Cities Ten Mile was also the 2019 US Ten Mile Championship and I was allowed in the field despite not making the listed qualifying time. Without the standard, I got an entry but no support, so I paid my own way and ended up with two days in a hotel room all to myself. As a mom of a two-year-old, there may be nothing better than a solo, silent, weekend getaway (my first as a mom). Race schmace, I was going to enjoy that part. <br />
<br />
Busy focusing on myself and my own head, I didn’t really think about the rest of the championship field. But when I arrived in St. Paul and the <a href="https://twitter.com/fast_women/status/1179578337179639808?s=20" target="_blank">hype started building</a> and friends starting relaying pace goals, the reality of racing the field (not the clock) set in. At brunch, a Oiselle teammate who raced a few years ago said she found herself way off the back after going through 2 miles in 11:20. That was much faster than I planned to run (I hoped to start no faster than 5:55 for the first 2-4 miles—or 11:50 at mile 2—and then try to cut it down). <i>How quickly am I going to get left behind??</i> Still, I remembered that last year some people had run over 60 and I planned to be about two minutes under that. When I ran in the elite women’s fields at <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/04/race-report-2018-cherry-blossom.html" target="_blank">Cherry Blossom Ten Mile</a> and <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/04/race-report-boston-2019.html" target="_blank">Boston</a> I had women to run with. Everyone I talked to was going out faster than me, but surely I’d find some ladies to work with.<br />
<br />
Man oh man, was I wrong. I got dropped in the first 200 meters and literally laughed out loud. <i>Seriously?!? </i>It didn’t surprise me that the leaders went out hard, but I couldn’t believe that everyone else did too. <i>They all have way more confidence than I do.</i> I forced myself to slow down, to let them go. <i>Surely some of them will come back. </i>When I saw the mile 1 clock come into view, I tried to slow even more. <i>Wayyy too fast.</i> <i>Coach is not going to like this</i>. (Coach has yet to reprimanded me for a fast start, but for some reason I was very concerned about it at that moment.) Even with my attempt to slow, I hit the mile in 5:42. (It is downhill.) I could just barely see two ponytails ahead of me, and only two. Everyone else was long gone.<br />
<br />
In the dark, as I ran alone along the river, a fox darted across the empty road in front of me. <i>Go right ahead, Mr. Fox. I’m the only other one out here.</i><br />
<br />
Lonely and far from having the start I wanted, it was time to practice my relaxation techniques. My plan was to do a quick body scan after every mile marker, focusing on relaxing my shoulders and arms. If I was in my head too much, I’d pick something external to focus on (a tree, a sign, any landmark). I didn’t want to tense up too much from the splits I was getting (fast or slow). In the second mile, I knew I needed to relax the pace, but didn’t feel like I totally slowed. My watch pace was hovering around 6:05-6:10, a bit slow, but good enough to even out that fast first mile. <br />
<br />
Man oh man, wrong again. I hit the second mile in 6:32. <i>WTH?!? Was that mile long and the first short!?</i> I told myself it must be and tried to reign in any thoughts of a disaster unfolding. But I also realized that even if the markers were wrong, I was still way over pace at two miles. (After the race I noticed my Garmin, which is often off by a hundredth or two, called that mile 1.08. Still, I trust the official markers far more than wrist-based GPS.) I tried not to let that get in my head--<i>Just get back on pace for the next mile--</i>but the reality of that mile would haunt me.<br />
<br />
Despite some uphill in mile 3, the next two miles were right on my planned pace of 5:55. But as I told myself I was doing it—<i>Relax, I’m back on pace</i>—that stupid 6:30 would pop back up. <i>Actually, you’re still way slow. Also, you’re in last place.</i> I tried not to let these thoughts bother me and kept reminding myself to relax, to focus on the mile I was in, but I think the tenor of my thoughts drifted downhill. If you had asked me right after the race, I would have told you mile 4 was too slow, but it was actually perfect. I started worrying the men were coming. (The race had an equalizer: the men started about six minutes behind the women and the first person—male or female—to cross the line got a bonus.) <i>Of course, they’re coming, they’re going to pass you eventually. </i>I could hear cheers, which assumed was them coming over the mile 3 bridge, way before I expected to. Why did this bother me? I have no idea, but I was clearly starting to stress. <i>Try to get to mile 5 before the men catch you. Otherwise, it’s just embarrassing.</i><br />
<br />
I didn’t. The embarrassment was just beginning. Mile 5 was 6:08 and I think I started accepting it wasn’t my day. How defeatist was I? How much did I give up? I don’t remember, I think I tried to stay in the mile, to remember my relaxation techniques, but I couldn’t get my legs to go. My stomach wasn’t right, I wanted to stop and use the bathroom. <i>Who cares, I’m running crappy anyway. I’m running slow and in Dead F’ing Last, it doesn’t matter. This is an embarrassment. </i>Again, I wondered why I was doing this. <i>I guess I didn’t deserve to be in this field. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR0hBwaenP0sJ7IFEmd4oRcPPMxHMeX6kweKHo-ocgSrruU5RSAxLeCtRg4HZn9d_OA5FWDIEpjcHmCvYbDQBVwCs01_8VSpLsT-0YyotEbjWxH8F3CJmCC4qbYXaWE0vjo_69yGK0CGl1/s1600/360M0320-937197b2f7e30456ce8c354083092869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR0hBwaenP0sJ7IFEmd4oRcPPMxHMeX6kweKHo-ocgSrruU5RSAxLeCtRg4HZn9d_OA5FWDIEpjcHmCvYbDQBVwCs01_8VSpLsT-0YyotEbjWxH8F3CJmCC4qbYXaWE0vjo_69yGK0CGl1/s320/360M0320-937197b2f7e30456ce8c354083092869.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>
<br />
Mile 6 was slower still (6:13) and I started thinking I was once again running my <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/09/race-report-rock-n-roll-philly-half.html" target="_blank">VA Beach/Philly</a> pace. (I wasn’t; I was still averaging faster, but that’s where my mind jumped to, which was decidedly defeatist.) I wanted to drop.<i> If I’m in such dire straits I have to stop completely, then surely that would excuse away why I ran so terribly up to that point.</i> But all I really wanted was a porta potty and even that wasn’t dire yet. Despite nearly always wanting to, I’d never dropped out of a race and didn’t want to start a trend. <i><a href="https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=dfl" target="_blank">DFL</a> is better than DNF. At least I’ll get a workout out of it.</i> Once <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/09/race-report-rock-n-roll-philly-half.html" target="_blank">again,</a> did just deciding not to quit mean I gave up a bit? Could I have pressed harder?<br />
<br />
At mile 7, whether because the course starts going slightly downhill after three miles of slight uphill or because I realized I was only three miles from the finish or because I could once again see a ponytail ahead (amongst the guys continuing to stream past), I seemed to find a slightly new gear. <i>This is the marathoner in me, it just takes this long to get me rolling.</i> Somehow I missed mile markers 7 and 8, but I had the sense that, although I was still far from the pace I wanted, I wasn’t continuing to slow like I had at Philly. (I was actually right about this one: I averaged 6:06 for miles 7-9). <i>Just get to the finish line… and then keep running for the restroom.</i><br />
<br />
With a mile to go I dug a little more and tried to push. Even though I had nothing really left to fight for I tried to give it what I had and finished in 1:00:29. The only (albeit minuscule) victory of the day: unlike <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/09/race-report-rock-n-roll-philly-half.html" target="_blank">Philly</a>, the last (downhill) mile (5:41) was my fastest, even faster than the blazing start. A reminder that <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">there’s always more left than I think</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuZuc-Dw2hlv-6S1doox_1Y53vNdfE951b8COnIcb3KNvW8YDS2UdYt008rHdELi2B-L0o84TTz5Zg0NZDeB72AwDeyobswPI6u0VKDDPI5hdIvM_nKrUwQEaftEvQ5RU0fsLMCpowSIt/s1600/CAC_2150-405fcaac2110d44d0e3b70b99f2b9e8f.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuZuc-Dw2hlv-6S1doox_1Y53vNdfE951b8COnIcb3KNvW8YDS2UdYt008rHdELi2B-L0o84TTz5Zg0NZDeB72AwDeyobswPI6u0VKDDPI5hdIvM_nKrUwQEaftEvQ5RU0fsLMCpowSIt/s320/CAC_2150-405fcaac2110d44d0e3b70b99f2b9e8f.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Classic stop-the-watch pose. Even when the watch shows <br />
a disappointing time, God forbid it shows two extra seconds.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But to recap, I started at the back of the pack and passed no one. A steady stream of guys—and a fox—passed me. I finished minutes off my goal time. It was… demoralizing.<br />
<br />
The stomach issues immediately eased off and after some <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/09/race-report-rock-n-roll-philly-half.html" target="_blank">all-too-familiar tears </a>with a teammate in the tent, I spent the rest of the day trying to enjoy the last moments of my “vacation”: getting a free massage in the VIP tent, going to a bakery, reading on the plane. I thought at any moment the dissonance between how I wanted this race to go and how it actually went would come crashing down, but, back at home, it was back to the business of real life. It wasn’t until I sat down the write this, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B3fQZNHH_E_/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link" target="_blank">a few days later</a>, that the reality of this race hit me. I have no idea why it went so poorly. The weather was absolutely perfect, the weekend stress-free. Maybe running alone for so much (i.e. the entire race) let the race mentality ease off a bit; I train alone and think I can race alone, but of course I run best when I have people to work with, even if only for a few miles. Maybe my training’s not where I thought it was and my PR hopes were a little delusional. Maybe my ferritin is still low. (Editor’s note: I did get the latter checked. In August, it was even lower than <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/06/blood-test-fails.html" target="_blank">last May</a>, but is now getting back to May levels. Which, to be fair, were still less than ideal.) Maybe it was just a bad day, which we all have, but that doesn’t make that explanation any more satisfying. It felt a lot different than Philly; it wasn’t so aggravatingly tough, I just couldn’t go. (Maybe I was too relaxed??)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That makes it even more frustrating.<br />
<br />
Although I know no one cares as much about my running as me, and probably no one even realized I got last place until I wrote this treatise about it, I’m embarrassed by my performance (and this entire year). Maybe I didn’t deserve to be in that field. But I do not, in my heart, believe that to be true. Yea I got last, but someone had to. My ten-mile <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/p/firsts-and-fastest-prs.html" target="_blank">PR</a> remains decidedly sub-par (I’ve run faster for the first ten miles of a half marathon), but I think I deserved to be there based on my marathon time. Why I can’t get my other PRs in line with that one is the crux of this chapter of my running story.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.richmondmarathon.org/races/half-marathon/" target="_blank">One more race to go</a>. How will this chapter end?<br />
<br />
Dream big, <br />
Teal Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-65375525122708059392019-09-27T16:04:00.000-04:002019-10-15T10:47:26.392-04:00Race Report: Rock-n-Roll Philly Half Marathon 2019My goals for this fall are to improve my half marathon and ten mile <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/p/firsts-and-fastest-prs.html" target="_blank">PRs</a>. I haven’t dedicated a season to shorter stuff (i.e. not marathons) since 2012 and I ran my half and ten mile PRs off marathon training, not training specific to those distances. (Unofficially, both PRs actually come from <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/11/race-report-2018-richmond-half-marathon.html" target="_blank">the same race</a>.) On the way to my peak races (Twin Cities Ten Miler and Richmond Half), I planned to run Rock-n-Roll Virginia Beach as a hard workout and Rock-n-Roll Philly as my first real race effort. Though Philly was just a stepping stone to the later races, I’d go in tapered and mentally jacked, ready to give my best effort on the day.<br />
<br />
The Virginia Beach half workout, two weeks before Philly, went close to expected. The plan was to start slower than marathon pace, gradually pick it up to marathon pace, and race the last few miles if I felt good and the weather cooperated. Though it was humid, I didn’t feel terrible and tried to pick it up at the end, but wasn’t successful. Still, I averaged 6:15 pace so it was a solid workout and the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B136yg6HP4P/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link" target="_blank">best/longest effort</a> I’d had since <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/04/race-report-boston-2019.html" target="_blank">Boston</a>. I was excited to see what I could do in Philly, when tapered and given permission to really go for it.<br />
<br />
My pace goal for Philly was to run 6:00, which seemed hard but not unreasonable. More than a specific pace, though, I wanted to focus on process goals. (Process goals are within your control, unlike an outcome goal—like a time or place—that depends on weather, other competitors, etc.) Lately I’ve been wondering if my two biggest weaknesses—heat/humidity and any distance shorter than a marathon—are in some part self-fulfilling prophesies. I tell myself I’m bad in that kind of weather and at that kind of distance and so… I run poorly. (Certainly there is truth to both issues: tough conditions <i>will </i>slow times down, the marathon<i> is</i> my strength. But I seem to be so much of an anomaly in both situations that I wonder if part of it is mental.) One of my power words this season is <b>capable</b>, to remind myself that I am capable of running well in poor conditions and I am capable of running faster in shorter stuff. With Philly, I wanted to run strong even if the weather sucked, to be tough when I needed to be, and to finish feeling proud that I gave what I had and didn’t let negativity get the best of me. I was also going up against a course that <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/09/nonrace-report-rock-n-roll-philly-half.html" target="_blank">repeatedly plagued me in the past</a>; I wanted to finally manage a win. All week long I talked myself up, reminding myself that I really wanted to fight when it got hard and not give up, no matter the time. <br />
<br />
Race day was humid as always: 71<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">°</span> and 90% humidity. (On paper, it was similar to VA beach, but Philly felt much worse in my opinion.) This race gets a fast field (Desi, Jordan, Becky Wade, Lindsay Flanagan, and others, plus a ton of my speedy friends from DC and Richmond). At the gun, everyone flew by and I tried to reign in the excitement and not go out too fast. I looked at my watch approximately 8 million times to stay in check and remind myself to relax. The first four miles wind through the city, so my watch’s pace was wildly inaccurate, but I managed to twice follow a slightly too fast mile with a slightly too slow one and hit 4 miles right on pace. That seemed promising, although looking back now I may have been working a little too hard/in my head too much for so early in the race. (Though it’s easy to say this now given that I know how it ended up). I was also splashing water on my head as soon as possible. (Literally at the first water stop. Though I missed my head and hit the guy behind me in the face. <i>Whoops, sorry!! Hope it was refreshing!</i>) <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfRCc6P1O4C3UroN8pm-k5crfifuC10S1HqKbwfCTHhYkiNNpnqLwlUrct-2MZOIoHirWJj1cojxPa8hOi5XuX4yh7jZVA6_6AHPk9jI-1jTkp2eDQAbEFqAs4WVFM5Ieh44R1VoeKqg-/s1600/TealPhillyHalf091519+%25288%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfRCc6P1O4C3UroN8pm-k5crfifuC10S1HqKbwfCTHhYkiNNpnqLwlUrct-2MZOIoHirWJj1cojxPa8hOi5XuX4yh7jZVA6_6AHPk9jI-1jTkp2eDQAbEFqAs4WVFM5Ieh44R1VoeKqg-/s320/TealPhillyHalf091519+%25288%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 1: Feeling fine. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Mile 5 was slow (6:15), but I’ve had a slow mile in this section before and let it derail me, so this time I had prepared myself to not let it bug me. My old <a href="http://www.grcrunning.com/" target="_blank">GRC teammate</a> Catherine caught me and I was excited to run with her and work together. Mile 6 was better though still a little slow (6:04), but my head was spiraling a bit. I was trying to fight it off, to stay with Catherine, to work on digging deep. I knew having Catherine was such a blessing and was helping me keep it together; I didn’t want to let that opportunity go. But I was wondering why I was doing this at all. <i>This sucks.</i> <i>Maybe I should stop racing, I’m not that good.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNb7Yt98yHm2e84QK2E9rGtyRjSApXe28rj8fa6ai3_UHxWMoJmSPPU6kBfVfcnVRc_woI3tyCqV_9pQy7UFIcWMcYhAFrIA_l-ol_U1Mkae72L7sEku3VXd5EIcADwk0nJLrPj-OllNbU/s1600/TealPhillyHalf091519+%252816%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNb7Yt98yHm2e84QK2E9rGtyRjSApXe28rj8fa6ai3_UHxWMoJmSPPU6kBfVfcnVRc_woI3tyCqV_9pQy7UFIcWMcYhAFrIA_l-ol_U1Mkae72L7sEku3VXd5EIcADwk0nJLrPj-OllNbU/s320/TealPhillyHalf091519+%252816%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 7: With Catherine on my right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I tried to focus on my mantra for the race, but became intimidated by how long I’d need to repeat it. Mile 7 was another 6:15, so was mile 8. I was falling apart and trying not to bargain with myself. <i>Just don’t drop out. There’s nothing wrong with you and no need to drop out. At least finish. …. Uh, that’s bargaining with myself. How did I get from fighting with everything I had to convincing myself to just not quit entirely?</i> I fell back from Catherine at this point and though I tried to tell myself to get back to her, the gap continued to grow. <br />
<br />
I thought hitting the bridge at mile 9 and heading back towards the finish would be a mental boost. But mile 9 was my slowest yet (6:30!). Miles 10 and 11 were slightly better (~6:20) but I was desperately just trying to get to the finish. I really wanted to stop and walk. I wanted to cry. <i>Why am I here <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/10/race-report-rnr-philadelphia-half.html" target="_blank">AGAIN</a>, running so poorly?? </i>Women were passing me, some encouraging me to go with them, but I had no fight, no will do it. I figured I’d be slower than VA Beach and had nothing to fight for. Even as I got closer, I didn’t manage to kick it in. The last 2.1 miles were my slowest (more 6:30s).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHVWFaB9L_mOl2ZCurgH2UcE3NAJ6ovb19n5uwkcUPazyh1XAhB6ulLkNNLj8WicMulUyznlmFeemQoxrJ-KkPb2pRk4Ghmh_1cinHoVeIPXwQ4_eW62fQEcOUx1aOzx7xF5_5XOH-hZD/s1600/TealPhillyHalf091519+%252846%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHVWFaB9L_mOl2ZCurgH2UcE3NAJ6ovb19n5uwkcUPazyh1XAhB6ulLkNNLj8WicMulUyznlmFeemQoxrJ-KkPb2pRk4Ghmh_1cinHoVeIPXwQ4_eW62fQEcOUx1aOzx7xF5_5XOH-hZD/s320/TealPhillyHalf091519+%252846%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 10: Desperate to be done.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When I could finally see the clock, I realized it would be closer to my VA Beach time than I thought, but it was too late to do anything about it. I finished 9 seconds slower, for another 6:15 average. (Though, man oh man, did I come about it a different and more terribly, awful way. I do not recommend it.)<br />
<br />
I had to fight back tears at the finish (FYI it’s really difficult to cry when out of breath: it comes out in ragged gasps which feel like choking, though happy tears don’t seem to have <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">this problem</a>), but when I made it to the elite tent and saw some friends I lost it. It wasn’t the time that bothered me as much as the lack of fight. I have a lot of issues with confidence and <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/11/ready-or-not.html" target="_blank">toughness</a> and the race seemed to confirm my suspicions. Yes, it was humid, but people PRed left and right. <i>Why couldn’t I fight better? Why didn’t I?</i><br />
<br />
Since the race, I’ve started talking to a sports psychologist (which was already in the works before Philly, though the race confirmed the need). I’m realizing that I need to relax a lot more early on (easier said than done!) and respond to negative feedback (a bad split, being passed by a pack, etc.) with less judgement. Even as I try mentally to be positive, my body is probably physically too tensed up, too ready to fight too early (which ironically robs me of the fight when I need it later). There’s lots to explore here and I’m just getting started but I’ll update as I try some tactics (like relaxation techniques, regular body scans, counting slowly) and see what works. <br />
<br />
Despite my efforts to win one on this course, the race was a rerun of the <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/10/race-report-rnr-philadelphia-half.html" target="_blank">2012 edition</a>. And just like past years, I find myself in the <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/09/september-slump.html" target="_blank">September slump</a>. But in the past that slump has been followed by fast times when the heat and humidity finally lift. This year I ran a totally awful, demoralizing, humid half two minutes faster than last September's <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/09/september-slump.html" target="_blank">totally awful, demoralizing, humid half</a><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. So I'm right on track for a two-minute PR in <a href="https://www.richmondmarathon.org/?creative=338812075171&keyword=richmond%20half%20marathon&matchtype=e&network=g&device=c&gclid=Cj0KCQjw5rbsBRCFARIsAGEYRwcTkjLc56gnTpleT6LftCDxY0l5bXTYKJ6htM5vD0MCNkS2ixWJSngaAgegEALw_wcB" target="_blank">November</a>, right?<br />
<br />
Dream big, <br />
Teal <br />
</span>Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-43646562032356125012019-06-04T13:53:00.000-04:002019-06-04T13:53:42.898-04:00Blood Test FailsSometime this past March, frustrations about sub-par training led me to the idea that my iron levels might be low again. I’ve had low iron <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/10/science-friday-diagnosis-and.html">in the past</a> (and excessively low ferritin, which stores iron), a condition that means muscles have a harder time getting the oxygen they need and performance suffers. <br />
<br />
Last month I finally got my blood tested. The long story short is that my ferritin levels are on the upswing (but likely were low and contributed to my poor training this winter) and that I have other hormonal issues that may be contributing to poor recovery. Along the way to finally discovering this, I made seemingly every mistake in the book, which is a bit embarrassing to admit. But I’m sharing them below anyway in the hopes that others will learn from my <strike>stupidity</strike> honesty. <br />
<br />
<b>Mistake #1: No follow up test</b><br />
I first realized my ferritin was a problem in 2012 and started taking the iron supplement Vitron-C. I started to feel better, so that was good enough for me. But I never actually tested if my iron levels improved or if it was a placebo effect/different training/some other explanation. When I thought my iron levels might be part of my problem this winter, I started taking Vitron-C again and wanted to believe it would help, but I realized I wasn’t even sure if it ever had. (Because of Mistake #3, see below, I didn’t see a doctor before I started supplementing again. This is NOT recommended, as it is dangerous to have too much iron. It turned out okay for me, but easily could have ended up in the HUGE mistake column.) <br />
<br />
<u>Solution:</u> Get a follow up test to see if your supplements/changes to diet/habits are actually working. I’ve made a calendar reminder to get tested again at the beginning of August, three months after my recent test.<br />
<br />
<b>Mistake #2: Not starting again</b><br />
The biggest mistake I made was that I didn’t start supplementing again after I stopped breastfeeding. When I found out I was pregnant, I switched to taking prenatal vitamins (which have some iron, although not as much as Vitron-C) and continued taking those while I breastfed. I figured I didn’t need such excessive amounts of iron since I wasn’t getting my period (the main reason iron levels are such a problem for female athletes) and I wasn’t really training all that hard. (Although that last part probably stopped being true by the spring of 2018 when I was training for <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html">Pittsburgh</a>). Last summer I stopped nursing, switched to a daily multivitamin and, because I also eat more red meat now than I used to, I thought, “Good enough.” Except it wasn’t. Just like iron levels take a long time to come back to normal, they also take a long time to drop. I was able to run really well <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/12/race-report-cim-2018.html">last fall</a> before they dropped enough to make me notice this winter. And then it was too late. <br />
<br />
<u>Solution:</u> Once again, get tested, especially if you change your supplements/diet/habits. Don’t wait until levels are so low you’ve dug a hole it will take months to get out of.<br />
<br />
<b>Mistake #3: Assuming I needed a doctor’s appointment</b><br />
When I started thinking my ferritin might be a problem again, I tried to make an appointment with a doctor. I didn’t find a primary care doctor when I moved to Richmond three years ago (mistake #8594) and it would be months before I could see one. (I’ve fixed that problem and have my first appointment in… November.) I felt stuck. I had heard about companies like <a href="https://www.insidetracker.com/">Inside Tracker</a> but they seemed expensive and I didn’t fully understand how you’d get a blood draw without a doctor’s appointment. <br />
<br />
<u>Solution:</u> Thanks to the advice of my <a href="https://www.oiselle.com/athletes">Oiselle team</a>, I used <a href="https://www.athletebloodtest.com/">Athlete Blood Test</a> (similar to Inside Tracker though less well known) and highly recommend it. It was immediate: I signed up online and took the form to a LapCorp near me. I didn’t need an appointment, saw someone within thirty minutes, and the results came back a few days later. It was expensive (I was right about that part at least…) but the athlete-specific information and 10-page analysis they gave me was <b>worth it</b>. When I went to see a doctor for suspected low iron back in 2012, my doctor wasn’t entirely convinced my iron levels were the problem. (I was just running too much!! Of course I feel tired!!) <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/10/science-friday-diagnosis-and.html">Back then</a> it was my own research that led me to the importance of ferritin and how ridiculously low my levels were. Athlete Blood Test determines <a href="https://www.outsideonline.com/2397065/how-much-iron-is-enough-for-athletes">athletes’ requirements</a>, which are different than what a PCP may be used to, so this time the research was done for me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZMT5ZN3J1ZyhQuVVHau9WAvD8n_WomTMx04kAomyZxEnsE7THcMr_uflwcyILEvW9uysd3RGopjFg2tXkQIpGtY47Slcb1HJsW1EQ8rSHsnmUwKAKXi5YdsNtpexP9XoVGYncBt9yp1e/s1600/uhq9Z3EVQ5OGTv8SiYM5%2525Q.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZMT5ZN3J1ZyhQuVVHau9WAvD8n_WomTMx04kAomyZxEnsE7THcMr_uflwcyILEvW9uysd3RGopjFg2tXkQIpGtY47Slcb1HJsW1EQ8rSHsnmUwKAKXi5YdsNtpexP9XoVGYncBt9yp1e/s320/uhq9Z3EVQ5OGTv8SiYM5%2525Q.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My current lineup of "meds." <br />Glad to have an analysis that covered all of these.</td></tr>
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<b>Mistake #4: Not resting enough</b><br />
One of the other benefits of the Athlete Blood Test is it tests a whole slew of things that a PCP might not. It turns out that I may also have been feeling sluggish because my testosterone levels are low while another hormone (sex hormone binding globulin, or SHBG) levels are high. SHBG binds testosterone making it inactive, so when SHBG levels are high, there is less free testosterone and muscles have a harder time recovering. <br />
<br />
The mistake here is in not resting enough. While I take a day off every week and try to go to sleep on time, I also cram my day full of activity, often up until the moment my “go the fudge to bed” alarm goes off. I do try to rest for 20 to 30 minutes during my daughter’s nap time but I feel guilty every time I do and am embarrassed to admit it, as if everyone will judge me that my stay at home mom/freelance writer gig is so easy I can lay down midday. (No one has ever said anything like that to my face, but that matters not a whit to that stupid guilt.) <br />
<br />
<u>Solution:</u> Obviously, rest more. Get over the guilt, appreciate the time I have to relax and do less (read: stop trying to do all the things!) so I can actually have some relaxing time in the evening before bed. And then go the fudge sleep when that alarm goes off! (I can also focus on eating more healthy fats (something I’ve been doing more of in the last year but still can work to improve) and addressing low vitamin D levels (which, along with my also low B12, can be fixed with supplementation). But the main thing is that elusive work/life/training balance.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRaSSt6atMtBXzQsDmIpEGZvTl2yTYtKmypWSTI_R5lWFYTj7_e3BXTMx0Mq0mh_7SBSuNKbU9Tfo46pACbuxNldQhHvS0JOfp3wWXQAkjJj1jP2JsdRLBiXINRGmdry2MukPHYUH3pTQh/s1600/IMG_9297.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRaSSt6atMtBXzQsDmIpEGZvTl2yTYtKmypWSTI_R5lWFYTj7_e3BXTMx0Mq0mh_7SBSuNKbU9Tfo46pACbuxNldQhHvS0JOfp3wWXQAkjJj1jP2JsdRLBiXINRGmdry2MukPHYUH3pTQh/s320/IMG_9297.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My other prescription: more rest.</td></tr>
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I’d venture to guess this is probably the most common of these mistakes and certainly the hardest for me to correct. The solution isn’t as easy as popping a pill (or three, my current lineup). It means reorganizing and reprioritizing my day so that I can fit in rest more; like maybe finding a way to sit down to catch my breath and eat breakfast after a tough morning workout, instead of scarfing it while standing up, doing the dishes, and assuring my daughter “I’ll play with you in one minute, sweetie!” Truthfully, I’m not sure how I’m going to carve out this time but I know that I need to. Because I didn’t really need a blood test to tell me I’m exhausted. <br />
<br />
But it did, which turns out to be the push I needed. <br />
<br />
So get that dang blood test.<br />
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Dream big, <br />
Teal Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-27654230156016223282019-04-24T15:05:00.000-04:002019-04-24T15:05:04.408-04:00Race Report: Boston 2019Going into Boston, my main goal was to negative split. Starting too fast at Boston bites you harder than on other courses, because the hills in the second half will make any slowing exponentially worse. The last two times I’ve run Boston (<a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2013/04/boston-2013.html" target="_blank">2013</a> and <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/05/race-report-boston-2014.html" target="_blank">2014</a>), I fell apart around mile 15 and I didn’t want to repeat those performances. Even though it’s mentally hard to wrap your mind around trying to run faster on the part that’s more uphill, I knew that was the way to do it and was reassured by countless others.<br />
<br />
But I also figured I needed some time goals as well, to keep me pushing when things got rough. Common advice is to have three goals: an A goal if it’s a perfect day, a B goal that’s more safe and realistic, and a C goal for when things gone wrong and you need something to keep you from throwing in the towel. <br />
<br />
My training this season was <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BvUicsLhrwG/" target="_blank">frustrating and disappointing</a>; I never hit the paces I wanted and knew a PR was not in the cards. My marathon pace workouts predicted a 2:42 marathon (6:12 pace) but based on results from other workouts, <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/03/race-report-rock-n-roll-dc-2019.html" target="_blank">a half</a>, and that I often did those marathon pace runs in less than ideal conditions (one in hail/snow, another when I was battling a cold), I knew I was in far better shape than when I <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">actually ran 2:42</a> in 2014. I set 2:42 as my B goal and figured starting in the 6:10-6:15 range would be smart. Some of the workouts in the final weeks were faster than when I set my current PR of 2:39:08 at CIM and I thought on a great day I could squeeze under 2:40. Finally, my C goal was a 2:45, for no reason other than I needed a C goal that was more than just finish. I didn’t even really think about it. Surely I would get the C goal, which would be a big course PR. (My previous best at Boston was 2:52.) <br />
<br />
Running in the elite women’s start—an opportunity I’ve never had before—was one of the things that made me most eager to run Boston again, despite the poor buildup. (I was frustrated with the lack of information about the elite women’s start so I've <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/04/elite-womens-start-at-boston.html">written a little bit about the minutia</a> for anyone interested in running it in the future.) To some, there is an obvious downside to a women’s-only start, which takes off about thirty minutes before the masses: with only about sixty women and obviously no men, you may find yourself alone pretty early. But interestingly, it seems (to me) that it’s overwhelmingly men that mention that downside of women-only starts. (I also raced the women’s-only start at Cherry Blossom <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/04/race-report-2018-cherry-blossom.html" target="_blank">last spring</a> and first noticed this phenomenon then.) One of my friends debated doing the elite start for that reason, but every other woman I talked to was either psyched to do it themselves or psyched for me. Personally, I mostly ignore the men I’m running near. Sometimes they are a helpful distraction (<a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/12/race-report-cim-2018.html" target="_blank">like at CIM</a>), but I’m focused on keying off the women. I’m not sure if it’s because I subconsciously (a) don’t trust their pacing (there have been <a href="https://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/08/06/women-pace-marathons-better-than-men-do/" target="_blank">studies</a> on this), (b) I feel both more camaraderie and competition with the women, or (c) I make excuses for myself and think they aren’t working as hard as I am. (<a href="https://twitter.com/Phe800/status/1095158614010949632" target="_blank">I'm not alone in this.</a>) At <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">Pittsburgh</a> and <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/11/race-report-richmond-marathon.html" target="_blank">Richmond</a> I ran alone for most of the way; I wasn’t scared to run alone at Boston. If anything, I told myself if I was alone the whole crowd would be cheering for me. <br />
<br />
The elite experience started with getting on a bus around 7 am for the drive from downtown to Hopkinton. It was <a href="https://twitter.com/runnerteal/status/1117746795021574146" target="_blank">POURING rain</a> when we left. People were reassuring each other that the forecast said it was going to stop, but I personally was telling myself I’d rather have rain than the predicted warmer conditions. We were dropped off by a church near the starting line and all hung out in the church’s gymnasium. The pros were given mats and prime spaces along the walls; they put their feet up (Lindsay Flanagan), listened to music (Desi), stretched. There was also some space upstairs to hide away or do drills (Jordan). The rest of us sat in folding chairs in the middle (and were also offered yoga mats to stretch on).<br />
<br />
Behind the church was an alley about a hundred meters long we could warm up on, out and back, over and over. My usual warmup (taken straight out of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Advanced-Marathoning-Pete-Pfitzinger/dp/0736074600" target="_blank">Advanced Marathoning</a></i>) is five minutes of jogging, a couple minutes of drills and stretching, and then another five minutes ending with thirty seconds at goal pace. I’m not sure I did that as I felt ridiculous trying to fly by Jordan, Sara Hall (and her husband Ryan), and the other pros who were jogging (slower than me and for longer). The turning around also made it hard to get in a rhythm, but I felt whatever I did was fine. <br />
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About 15 minutes before the start they lined us up by number. We walked outside and it was… sunny?!? A couple women ahead of me asked the volunteers for their bags to get sunglasses, I just ducked back in the church and grabbed mine. Some people mentioned how warm it was (I was totally comfortable in what is roughly the size of a bikini) but I tried, pretty successfully, to ignore them. (This is strikingly similar to <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/05/race-report-boston-2014.html" target="_blank">my thoughts</a> at the start of my last Boston.)<br />
<br />
We did a few strides off the line (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">don’t run into Des!</i>) and then they did the introductions, told us we had maybe 30 seconds left, and then bang! No “ready, set, go.” Just the gun. Which surprised me into laughing, leading to a big smile right off the line.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho777NFEoc8LJ_CE3jKvM4QCH1RjQPvo6svF0XLFe5kJx1vWcdyfy83ZXOJzoEAPxpox3svG4_0N5m69UKTdnAXrByRXVsxkhJgOVm9YMecncQDEhpO2acdcABzF9evzhWfPJq1Tty-Gdr/s1600/IMG_8553+2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="749" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho777NFEoc8LJ_CE3jKvM4QCH1RjQPvo6svF0XLFe5kJx1vWcdyfy83ZXOJzoEAPxpox3svG4_0N5m69UKTdnAXrByRXVsxkhJgOVm9YMecncQDEhpO2acdcABzF9evzhWfPJq1Tty-Gdr/s400/IMG_8553+2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All smiles at the start. <i>Photo credit: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/bostonmarathon/?hl=en" target="_blank">@bostonmarathon</a></i></td></tr>
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When I’ve watched the elite women’s start in the past, I’ve often been shocked at how slowly the leaders go out, shouting, “6:15 pace! I could do that!” at my TV. I’d hoped they’d start slowly again so I could enjoy an unbelievable moment in the lead pack, but they seemed to take off right away. (Post-race editor’s note: they ran a 5:47, not that fast for them, but too fast for me.) I let them go, along with seemingly everyone else. I wasn’t trying to start fast, I was trying to run smart. I hit the mile in 6:12: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Perfect.</i><br />
<br />
When I mentioned my goal of starting at 6:10-6:15 to one of my <a href="https://www.oiselle.com/athletes/elites" target="_blank">Oiselle teammates</a>, she mentioned her friend (“a solid pacer”) was doing the same. I immediately forgot the woman’s name, but remembered she had red hair. After a couple miles, I was in a pack of four women knocking off 6:10 miles and realized I was right behind a redhead and she <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was </i>pacing solidly. She also sort of reminded me of my friend Kate. Honestly, I have no idea why exactly (her strength and positivity, the encouragement she was sharing?) but as soon as I had the thought, I grabbed onto it: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Just out for a long run with Kate!</i> Then I decided the tall blonde on the other side reminded me of my friend Lindsay, for no reason other than that Lindsay is also tall and blonde and the three of us running together (Kate, Lindsay and me) would be perfectly logical in another time and place. It was a serious stretch by even a mid-race marathoner’s imagination, but it gave me something to think about. (Maybe that’s a creepy thing to do, to compare strangers to your running friends, but I say do whatever makes running marathons easier.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIBwEhD5EiG8oOuq3lBhFJrC4U13k4aUgHww5-2wMSKgJoZ3DUi1qnwf-ADVYFYmgt6vbwt_zFHMKtjVk6koJOP-ihLWYuKn82nDp7d_3_XTv1cIKt75E2d3V9OtNNjlbKoNH8mWUFdq8/s1600/IMG_8486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIBwEhD5EiG8oOuq3lBhFJrC4U13k4aUgHww5-2wMSKgJoZ3DUi1qnwf-ADVYFYmgt6vbwt_zFHMKtjVk6koJOP-ihLWYuKn82nDp7d_3_XTv1cIKt75E2d3V9OtNNjlbKoNH8mWUFdq8/s400/IMG_8486.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With a small pack at the 10K.</td></tr>
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After 10K our group split up a bit, but I tried to stick with Fake Kate. (Editor’s note: her real name is Cait.) By 15K (9.3 miles) I had fallen back and Fake Kate had caught another woman (who reminded me of Deena Kastor; again, please excuse my delusional mid-race impressions) and the two of them were working together. My mile 10 was a hair slower than we’d been running (6:15), so I knew they weren’t dropping the pace, I had just slowed. It wasn’t hard yet, I just lost contact at a water stop and needed to focus a bit more. But I also told myself to reel them in slowly. It was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">slow</i> progress, but by the time we hit the Wellesley scream tunnel (mile 12.5) I was nearly back on them. The twelfth mile was too fast (6 flat), though it has some downhill and I don’t remember thinking much about it at the time. Either I didn’t notice the split or I just didn’t dwell on it. I thought I hit the half a hair ahead of 6:10 pace, which surprised me as I had been sure my slowing around miles 9 and 10 had been costlier. (Editor’s note: I was actually exactly on 6:10 pace, so not sure why I thought we were ahead. The clocks had switched to the men’s time at mile 8, so I was looking at my watch from then on and apparently got confused.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikk-vgGwBr-NpcHBXOscQUNExstKKYI_-ZkgJ92_UGvJwunx96lJnKc8K2h5k6WFoaokBKcyPwryeiVOwK2Ee011yUE7tdysrynYKxyIs8yxlJ0n8NJRJgDki2n8tMf6O31nZ6X7i8NT0y/s1600/IMG_8452.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="536" data-original-width="750" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikk-vgGwBr-NpcHBXOscQUNExstKKYI_-ZkgJ92_UGvJwunx96lJnKc8K2h5k6WFoaokBKcyPwryeiVOwK2Ee011yUE7tdysrynYKxyIs8yxlJ0n8NJRJgDki2n8tMf6O31nZ6X7i8NT0y/s400/IMG_8452.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just after Wellesley (mile 12.5) (Thanks for the photo, Ashley Fizzarotti!) </td></tr>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s okay, I’m still on it! It’s going exactly according to my plan.</i> I always have patches of wanting to drop out and these thoughts came and went from about mile 9 on. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Was I going to make it?</i> But I told myself it was just unwarranted fear, it was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">going </i>to get<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>hard. But it wasn’t hard <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">yet</i>. I wasn’t even tired. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">If I drop out now, it will be a waste of all this energy I still have to give. Halfway done and still perfectly fine</i>.<br />
<br />
My plan had been to pick it up at the half and I expected that was Fake Deena and Fake Kate’s plan too, based on something I overheard just before I joined them back in the early miles. Sure enough, even though I picked it up, I dropped back further. I hoped to get back alongside them before the hills started, but it wasn’t happening.<br />
<br />
Mile 15 was slow (6:20) for no reason I can remember, mile 16—with lots of downhill—was fast (5:59). I don’t remember seeing either of those times on my watch, I guess I just let those miles roll off my back. But I did stop looking at my watch entirely soon after mile 17. One of my pre-race plans was to ignore the watch in the later stages since a slow time would be discouraging and a fast one might scare me into slowing down (something that I think happened at <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/03/race-report-rock-n-roll-dc-2019.html">Rock n Roll DC</a>). The 17<span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">th</span> mile (6:23) actually seems not so bad for going uphill (the first of the infamous four Newton hills), but I decided it was time to stop looking at my watch.<br />
<br />
[Editor's note/post-race analysis: Whether ignoring my watch was smart or not, I’m not sure. I wanted to run more by feel, not berating myself, but I’ve never done this before for a reason. A slow mile can make you feel like it’s all unraveling and there’s no hope left… or it can keep you honest and be a kick in the briefs when you need it. <br />
<br />
When I stopped looking at my watch it seemed like I was abandoning all my goals, but actually I feel like I had already given up on them. I’m not sure why, I was running pretty much according to plan. Even if I didn’t pick it up enough to achieve my A goal, I was still on pace for my B goal through at least 30K (18.6 miles). But maybe I didn’t really care much about my B goal; maybe when the A goal seemed out of reach I gave up. Maybe when the gap to Fake Deena and Fake Kate seemed unsurmountable (early in the hills) I gave up. Looking back now, it seems like <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/10/race-report-2014-army-ten-miler.html" target="_blank">what I've written before</a> applied: it’s only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">after</i> you tell yourself you can’t that it becomes true. I told myself I couldn't do it, and although I was still on pace at that point, suddenly I couldn't keep it up anymore. Nothing was actually wrong, I just didn’t have the fight. When is it accepting it’s not your day and when is it plain giving up?]<br />
<br />
One thing that always keeps me going is my family. I felt bad that I was giving up: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">They came all this way to cheer just to watch me run poorly?</i> I wanted to give them something more to celebrate. But the ready-to-give-up, apathetic part of me tried to take the pressure off with the popular reminder: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No one cares as much about your running as you.</i> As my family would reassure me later, they had a blast cheering me on as part of the elite field, a new experience for them as well. In the moment, I told myself that I would at least finish for them. (Editor’s note: That seemed good enough then, but of course it doesn’t now. <a href="https://www.jasyoga.com/" target="_blank">Jasyoga</a> has a race day meditation that says, “Don’t bargain with yourself.” I definitely bargained. Finishing was fine.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuYcIxUxYIW6X_ZYpKNlPad2YyqBp2OVR3uadfE6O1kq4oMozkuGmUtZSEdoVQRPDy5_5i_wsxGVKZRuFNQ-tJd38m6_z6yspfPWpqVUBfchm_qm42TeKoKkJK_F3XA3QBeqBVwpXHjLsx/s1600/IMG_8488.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuYcIxUxYIW6X_ZYpKNlPad2YyqBp2OVR3uadfE6O1kq4oMozkuGmUtZSEdoVQRPDy5_5i_wsxGVKZRuFNQ-tJd38m6_z6yspfPWpqVUBfchm_qm42TeKoKkJK_F3XA3QBeqBVwpXHjLsx/s400/IMG_8488.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blowing kisses to mile family, around mile 17.</td></tr>
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On my way to the finish, I’d enjoy the elite experience. The crowds were amazing. As predicted, being all alone—while not ideal—meant everyone was cheering for me, yelling Burrell when they saw my bib or “head up, wings out!” when they saw my Oiselle kit. Whenever someone yelled for Teal, it was extra special because I knew that person actually knew me, and I tried to give them a small wave. (As the race progressed, these waves got smaller and smaller until they were nonexistent on Beacon St. Sorry to everyone in the last 10K! You guys were truly amazing!) <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7ugikr5AaKSGMnH0GzIuccvCQsg6UsQ97XeFor5m3DmVAknx-dZOL3mrVO3kHT1dMubu1-eAXZKwG4tZTZ7mkxUBx149EbSLf5SY-ZYtNhU8lnPVKQ8_Kkm9LLIrAusvpjRA7QVzV-Ef/s1600/IMG_8478.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="750" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7ugikr5AaKSGMnH0GzIuccvCQsg6UsQ97XeFor5m3DmVAknx-dZOL3mrVO3kHT1dMubu1-eAXZKwG4tZTZ7mkxUBx149EbSLf5SY-ZYtNhU8lnPVKQ8_Kkm9LLIrAusvpjRA7QVzV-Ef/s320/IMG_8478.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 19.5 (Thanks @perfectine!)</td></tr>
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<br />
Through the hills, I tried to keep my eyes on whoever was in front of me. I told myself I’m good on hills and there’s lots of flats in this section. I was trying to count the hills, but I couldn’t tell if I had hit the third one yet (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Did that little uphill count as hill #3 or was it just a blip?)</i> which seems dumb now given the elevation chart. But I felt like the first three hills came bang bang bang and then I was just waiting for Heartbreak. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Is there another one before it??</i> (Whether or not abandoning my watch was smart, I’m glad I didn’t look at my Heartbreak split because it was incredibly slow, 6:56!! Again, it makes me wonder now how much I was really trying at that point.) I think I caught a couple people here and was surprised no one caught me, until… <br />
<br />
The lead men did. And… <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">OMG SCOTT FAUBLE IS LEADING!!</i> I freaked out. I’ve been a big fan of Fauble’s since reading<a href="http://www.nazelite.com/product/inside-a-marathon/" target="_blank"> </a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.nazelite.com/product/inside-a-marathon/" target="_blank">Inside a Marathon</a>.</i> (If you are a running nerd who likes the nitty gritty of training for a marathon—and if you’re reading this tome of a race report I assume you are—definitely check it out.) I was so pumped he was leading, I nearly tripped myself. I screamed for him, though we were coming through Boston College at the time and OMG AN AMERICAN IS LEADING and it was SO LOUD that I was sure he couldn’t hear me. People later told me I made it on the TV broadcast (I assume the WBZ one; I watched the NBC one and they cut away) and I would love to see what my freak out looked like, because it was genuine excitement in the middle of pure exhaustion. Honestly, this was probably my favorite part of the race. I couldn’t believe it. (Fauble would finish in 7<span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">th</span> in a huge PR.) <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BwU830WnnR-/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_medium=loading" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">A post shared by Tony Mistretta (@tmistret)</a> on <time datetime="2019-04-16T18:59:53+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Apr 16, 2019 at 11:59am PDT</time></div>
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</blockquote>
<script async="" src="//www.instagram.com/embed.js"></script><br />
What seemed like a little while later (but probably wasn’t), Jared Ward and another male passed me. We were in a much quieter section (nicknamed Cemetery Mile) so when I screamed “Go Jared” he actually heard me and gave me a thumbs up. (He would finish 8<span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">th</span>, 16 seconds behind Fauble.)<br />
<br />
Not long after, we turned onto Beacon St. My family was there cheering and, as predicted, the crowds were absolutely insane from the turn onto Beacon to the finish. I was still avoiding my watch, telling myself to run as fast as possible to the finish, but it was really more like: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Just </i><u>get</u><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> to the finish</i>. I caught a few more women and again was surprised no women passed me (I think?). By mile 24 I felt like I was going to throw up, which was karma because earlier in the race I had almost wished I was sick; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">If I have to pull over to puke at least it will be an excuse for why I’m running crappy</i>. Now I was so close I just wanted to finish. I did throw up a bit in my mouth (TMI? This whole post is TMI…) but managed to avoid anything worse. (Editor’s note: My stomach was messed up for about 36 hours after this race and I couldn’t eat my typical post-race burger and beer, something that’s never happened to me before.) The last elite water stop was at 40K (1.25 miles to go) and I almost got my bottle just to wash the taste out of my mouth, then I thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Screw it I am so close. Just finish this thing</i>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeb5tly1sYIIsr28NlqFgImxbzEy1r3vuWtTWHydGq4b8ynlhuctFQGScb14IGrsSiK0q6AWyRwPO5HOvK7NB2D145PmzCArplz_k7B-svRwidlFIoZrPw7LO5H7dwan55tmZAm8FK5tbb/s1600/IMG_8492.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeb5tly1sYIIsr28NlqFgImxbzEy1r3vuWtTWHydGq4b8ynlhuctFQGScb14IGrsSiK0q6AWyRwPO5HOvK7NB2D145PmzCArplz_k7B-svRwidlFIoZrPw7LO5H7dwan55tmZAm8FK5tbb/s400/IMG_8492.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turning onto Beacon St. (Mile 22.5)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At a mile to go, I finally looked at my watch and tried to calculate if a sub-2:45 (my C goal) was still possible. I had assumed it was, but had zero evidence. Turns out I was cutting it pretty close but it seemed doable, so I kept trying to push to the finish. Yuki (last year’s men’s winner) flying by took me by surprise and nearly knocked me over, I had no idea he was coming. Ritz followed, clearly struggling as he didn’t immediately leave me in the dust. (I mean he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i>, but it wasn’t as ridiculously fast as expected.) Finally, finally, finally, I made the right on Hereford and left on Boylston, checking my watch to be sure sub-2:45 would still happen. I wish I had thought to try to beat my <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">Pittsburgh time</a>, but finished about ten seconds slower in 2:44:45.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnSv3P0-Dgu8UZwQh1B-XgF9MBXTlkxKw-Oh_FpzS8oK_gvbC3wJcfDHIUaTEzdvTfXGrvsgXZ7_HT-qq8VcfohFNlKHq0G_VEJ0j88sOOgPgPybxDNpfLo1avN86RDQmrt45luJurgIx/s1600/IMG_8474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnSv3P0-Dgu8UZwQh1B-XgF9MBXTlkxKw-Oh_FpzS8oK_gvbC3wJcfDHIUaTEzdvTfXGrvsgXZ7_HT-qq8VcfohFNlKHq0G_VEJ0j88sOOgPgPybxDNpfLo1avN86RDQmrt45luJurgIx/s400/IMG_8474.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finishing. (<i>Photo credit: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/urimiscott/?hl=en" target="_blank">Michael Scott</a></i>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The final perk of the elite start: a finish line tent just for us. (Though the pros went straight to the host hotel for press conferences and pee checks.) I caught up with teammates and sat around trying to get my stomach to calm down, while watching the sweat continue to pour off. I wasn’t distraught, as I have been the last <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2013/04/boston-2013.html" target="_blank">two</a> <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/05/race-report-boston-2014.html" target="_blank">times</a> I’ve finished Boston way off my goal. In fact, the only other time I didn’t cry after a non-PR marathon (with the exception of my <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/11/race-report-richmond-marathon.html" target="_blank">post-partum return</a>) was the <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/02/race-report-trials.html" target="_blank">2016 Trials</a>. The Trials are a good comparison; they were miserably hot and I gave up on any hopes of a decent time early on, instead trying to enjoy the privilege of being there. In Boston, I experienced a similar apathy towards my poor showing, while the prestige of the elite start and constant cheers carried me through. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s not my day, but I’m going to enjoy the fact I get to be here and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BwdH7hrhut7/" target="_blank">how far I’ve come</a></i>. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX8UUEVGzraaqHY4Nb8dvkaZ6fFx08lAgQamDHi1pX2MFc9MU0dNJrqiIeXr4sDz8_gTeKbezIFxwM1XvJl6fW93QOYdItrl0JfU-rIOb1gvMfVGEmAWklFd-iVZODVEg2KxjTpwwCNpWG/s1600/IMG_8471.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX8UUEVGzraaqHY4Nb8dvkaZ6fFx08lAgQamDHi1pX2MFc9MU0dNJrqiIeXr4sDz8_gTeKbezIFxwM1XvJl6fW93QOYdItrl0JfU-rIOb1gvMfVGEmAWklFd-iVZODVEg2KxjTpwwCNpWG/s400/IMG_8471.jpeg" width="351" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another perk of Boston: getting to see, meet,<br />
and run with so many <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Volée</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> and </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Haute Volée teammates! </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Also, while the day was nowhere near 2016 Trials hot, it was warm and humid, not my favorite conditions to run in. (In fact, close to my least favorite. I would have preferred rain.) Many people struggled with the conditions and as I said a million times before the race to the annoyance of probably everyone around me, temperatures in the 60s feel a lot worse in April, after training in freezing temperatures, than in October when you’re acclimated. Add in the fact that the race starts later than most and conditions that don’t look that bad on paper become a lot worse. I didn’t initially blame the conditions, but I felt better when other people noted they were far from ideal. (Though I did benefit from starting earlier and getting my own water bottles, so I could, and did, drink to my heart and stomach’s content. Well, possibly more than my stomach's content...) I was sweatier and more salt-encrusted than I've been in a long time. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe I can just blame the warmth and humidity!</i> But no, I think it was me mentally giving up more than anything else. I went out at a pace that seemed like negative splitting was possible. But I gave up on myself way too easily, on the race and on the whole frustrating season, just wanting to get through it and put it behind me. <br />
<br />
Writing this a week later has brought up some of those emotions that the amazing Boston crowds managed to suppress. Every marathon is an opportunity to do something special and I feel like I wasted this one. I tell myself I’m tougher than what I showed on Monday, and this performance gives the doubts a little more ammo: “Yea, well maybe you’re <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/11/ready-or-not.html" target="_blank">not that tough</a>.” On the other hand, I put a lot into my training and something just wasn’t there this time around. While I don’t think this race represented even the work I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> able to put in, at least now I can take the time to assess why training didn’t go that well and learn from any mistakes I made. (Starting with getting my <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/10/science-friday-diagnosis-and.html" target="_blank">iron levels</a> checked and taking a more significant break than after CIM.) Also, I know from past experience that the races that leave me the most disappointed and frustrated are also the ones that <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2015/01/the-evolution-of-242.html" target="_blank">lead to the biggest breakthroughs</a>. So watch out, <a href="http://atlanta2020trials.com/" target="_blank">Atlanta</a>.<br />
<br />
Like the 2016 Trials, I can’t say I enjoyed every moment. It was demoralizing and, yes, heartbreaking. But it was also truly special to be part of the elite start, to have the crowds screaming wildly, to be part of the Oiselle team, to finish what I still refer to (no matter how many times it breaks my heart; the count is now 3 out of 5) as my favorite marathon. So while I can’t say I enjoyed every minute, I did—and will—treasure it. <br />
<br />
Dream big, <br />
Teal <br />
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</style>Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-6646539726873189372019-04-24T14:50:00.000-04:002019-04-29T20:02:33.366-04:00Elite Women's Start at BostonIn the past, the elite women’s start at Boston has been a little shrouded in mystery; it seemed like you needed to know someone who knew someone to get in. After the <a href="https://www.runnersworld.com/news/a20164215/boston-marathon-prize-money/">2018 debacle</a> where women in the mass start beat women in the elite start, Boston tried to make it a little more obvious about how to get in (so they could put their foot down on the rule that only those in the elite start can win prize money). I still found information a little lacking, so here’s a bit more about my experience for those interested in running it in the future, especially the Type A folks like myself who need all the info upfront. Though perhaps next year things will run more smoothly!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDhs6Nq2kTuqZZua5QhcvZwDyCsNVMtbDsR6loopWsd2s7vL4e2N1wLT-i7d3lcnOj71mjzWbskfEJB464ti5lyxhmzi19wOH22ohEtUa_87DjI4UTGdMVUm0uUGDHlB8NZeb8xpRtiEA/s1600/IMG_8553+2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="749" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDhs6Nq2kTuqZZua5QhcvZwDyCsNVMtbDsR6loopWsd2s7vL4e2N1wLT-i7d3lcnOj71mjzWbskfEJB464ti5lyxhmzi19wOH22ohEtUa_87DjI4UTGdMVUm0uUGDHlB8NZeb8xpRtiEA/s400/IMG_8553+2.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The 2019 Elite Start.</span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Photo credit: @bostonmarathon</span></i></td></tr>
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First and foremost: if you qualify, DO IT. (Read <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/04/race-report-boston-2019.html">my race report</a> for more about what a special experience it is.)<br />
<br />
GETTING IN<br />
I signed up in September and paid my registration. Later (in December) a friend of mine was given free entry for running under 2:42. I didn’t know about that possibility in September and was worried if I didn’t sign up with everyone else I would have no way in, so I went ahead and paid. (Sarah Sellers also famously paid her entry to the 2018 race, where she finished 2nd and won $75,000.) I would probably pay the $200 again just for the assurance of being able to run, no matter whether the rules changed down the line.<br />
<br />
HEARING BACK<br />
Within a few days of registering, I emailed the address listed on the site (which said to contact to express interest and get more info). I emailed again when I ran a new PR in December and again when a new email address appeared on the site over the winter. Friends assured me my time would be good enough, but I didn’t hear anything until I took to <a href="https://twitter.com/runnerteal/status/1106229851479048193">Twitter</a> in March after <a href="https://www.womensrunning.com/2019/03/news/new-rules-apply-to-boston-marathon-prize-money_101029">Women’s Running</a> posted an article saying Boston was letting all OTQs in. I found it frustrating they were advertising that but not telling the athletes if we were in or not. We were officially notified on April 2.<br />
<br />
So don't freak out if you don't hear back for a long time, but--although I realize I seem crazy for emailing <i>so</i> much--I definitely suggest you tell them your interest early on. Another friend waited to email until March and wasn’t initially accepted (despite an OTQ) until some women dropped out.<br />
<br />
WATER BOTTLES<br />
This year, Boston offered elite fluids to the top 40 women and top 40 men. (There were about 60-70 in each field.) You won’t know if you are in that group until the email in early April, so if you think you are borderline, I’d suggest training with what’s on the course (Gatorade Endurance).<br />
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GETTING TO THE START<br />
The elite field gets special busses that leave from downtown. In the past I’ve stayed farther out and driven to the busses at Hopkinton State Park, but wasn’t sure if I would be able to access the elite holding area if I didn’t come on the elite bus. It turns out you don’t need to take the elite busses, but as a friend learned, the other busses don’t have the same time constraints (after all, everyone else on those busses has an extra 30 minutes) and making the early start can be tight.<br />
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WHERE TO STAY<br />
The elite host hotel is the Fairmont Copley Plaza. If you can find/can afford a room there, take it. Bib pickup, water bottle drop off, the mandatory technical meeting (on Sunday afternoon), and the busses to the start are all at that hotel so it will help immensely. (I stayed super close by but was still concerned about all the walking back and forth I was doing.) <br />
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If you have any other questions, let me know in the comments and I’ll try to answer!<br />
Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-89434047231775459022019-03-15T15:59:00.000-04:002019-03-15T19:06:00.991-04:00Race Report: Rock-n-Roll DC 2019The main problem with the <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2019/03/race-reportscouting-mission-road-to-gold.html">Road to Gold race</a> being a confidence buster was that the very next weekend I had the Rock-n-Roll DC half marathon on tap, which I originally hoped would be a PR attempt. It came a little earlier in the season than <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/11/race-report-2018-richmond-half-marathon.html">last fall’s half PR</a> but in January, in my optimistic, goal-writing state, that didn’t matter. Road to Gold would be a stepping stone to tell me I could handle that pace at the half.<br />
<br />
But when that race went south, I wasn’t left with much to go on. The first part of Road to Gold was the only time I held sub-6 minute pace for longer than a mile all season, and after that I completely fell apart. So going out faster than 6-minute pace for the half seemed dumb. I figured a decent plan was to start around 6:00 until the big hill just after mile 6, then try to cut it down or do whatever I could at that point. With that kind of start I’d need to run sub-5:50 from halfway to the finish to PR, and I couldn’t convince myself that was possible. (My <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/p/firsts-and-fastest-prs.html">PR</a> is 1:17:26, 5:54 pace.) So “whatever I can do” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>became the vague goal that let me off the hook a little. It was a telling sign my confidence was shot.<br />
<br />
The trouble is, when I’m not going for a PR, my mental game suffers. I’m in this nebulous zone where I don’t know what would be a good effort on the day or whether I’m giving myself excuses from the start and cutting myself too much slack. And in the final miles of a race, it’s really hard not to have a tangible goal to grasp on to/to pull you forward. But without any real idea of where I was, I had no better plan.<br />
<br />
The weather was basically perfect. <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/03/race-report-rnr-dc-half.html">Once again</a>, a bunch of ladies passed me in the first mile. I tried to not care and let them go—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do NOT start too fast</i>—but still hit the mile in 5:52. I had thought top three was possible, but I was in maybe seventh or eighth place at that point. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let them go, maybe they’ll come back to me on or after the hill</i>. A guy nearby asked his friend if a pack of ladies just ahead of me was going for the Trials standard. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No way,</i> I thought. But then my stupid doubts came up: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">could they be?</i> (The standard is sub-1:13 and if they were I would definitely eat my <a href="https://twitter.com/runnerteal/status/1102955748139634688">Twitter words</a>.) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I definitely can’t stay with them then. Am I in over my head at this pace? </i>(But no, they <a href="https://www.runrocknroll.com/Events/DC/The-Races/Half-Marathon/2019-Results">definitely were not</a>. Rock-n-Roll DC has never had those kind of times.)<br />
<br />
But I found a pack of two women I knew and we started hitting 6 flats, so I was running according to plan. I was still mentally questioning myself way too much for so early in a race, but I told myself to stay with the women and work with them. <i>It’s early still. I’m not hurting, I’m just letting doubts and fear in for no reason.</i><br />
<br />
I tried to relax until we got to the hill, which I felt like we crawled up: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are my legs even moving?? </i>But the two women I was with dropped back a bit so maybe I survived it slightly better. I passed another woman before the next mile marker and was starting to feel more positive. My split for the hill mile was 6:23, but I knew from the past that although I often lose 20-30 seconds in that mile, I make it up on the downhills later on. <br />
<br />
The next section rolls a bit and I tried to embrace the hills. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m a strength runner! Hills are my jam!</i>) I felt strong and saw my sister who told me in was in fifth. I saw a ponytail ahead and thought I could surely reel her in.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-0R8x6JeA3DCQ81wNkSTtr_N0SWHN2MlqekDCFWcEBN_LJu516cTX7st_v1Avzu56phPhJNwIQZU2ykaAeGpXOa5o41qNUK0BF0EukFl59eIoI6TGJ29sPuDmrWKgsWhDbTq3535QKil/s1600/IMG_7846.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-0R8x6JeA3DCQ81wNkSTtr_N0SWHN2MlqekDCFWcEBN_LJu516cTX7st_v1Avzu56phPhJNwIQZU2ykaAeGpXOa5o41qNUK0BF0EukFl59eIoI6TGJ29sPuDmrWKgsWhDbTq3535QKil/s320/IMG_7846.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Around mile 10. Photo by Caitlyn Tateishi.</td></tr>
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Just after mile 8, Shauneen, one of the women I had been running with earlier, caught me. We had run together on <a href="http://www.grcrunning.com/womens-team.html">GRC</a> so I knew how tough she is. I tried to stay with her and was shocked when I actually could. I was telling myself the hills were helping me more (not sure why I thought this, maybe because I originally dropped her on the biggest hill) and that bold assertion helped me stay with her. We dropped a 5:50 on a rolling ninth mile and were back on 6-flat pace. But just before the tenth mile marker and the biggest downhill, I let her go. I think I got scared of the pace or gave myself the excuse that the downhill would help her more. This is my biggest regret of the race, because I had been surprised when I didn’t immediately let her go at mile 8, that I was capable of staying with her and it wasn’t killing me. But eventually I let fear get the better of me. Mile 10 was a 5:42. (That mile has the most downhill, but that’s probably the fastest split I’ve run in any race ever.) I watched Shauneen reel in the woman in front of her and was confident I could get her too.<span id="goog_1001395532"></span><br />
<br />
The countdown began: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">just get to the spot where Husband and Daughter are cheering</i> (mile 10.5). <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ok, big cheer, lots of love, check. Now get to Cowbell Corner</i> (mile 11.5<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">). Lots more love, lots more cheering </i>(the Oiselle team is LOUD y’all),<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> check</i>. There’s a slight uphill there, as my Oiselle teammate Courtney had reminded me, and while I definitely felt it, I still felt strong. Until all of a sudden, I didn’t. I was tying up left and right and struggling to keep it together. My split for mile 12 (after four solid miles) was a 6:09, the second slowest of the day. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNRsOTROLa8Anm5L9Xv2IhHXP_5nM1dpBsEk-wd4nug1BauIFOJ85dIgct8xTl9sUdH-8GDE4yrvVconT2U2G2oDNryHe_Ijt0Qs7fgYGLf5zVzZgSLEigxYp7V0yCXZQy4AhnVVjHBSCb/s1600/_DSC0955.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNRsOTROLa8Anm5L9Xv2IhHXP_5nM1dpBsEk-wd4nug1BauIFOJ85dIgct8xTl9sUdH-8GDE4yrvVconT2U2G2oDNryHe_Ijt0Qs7fgYGLf5zVzZgSLEigxYp7V0yCXZQy4AhnVVjHBSCb/s400/_DSC0955.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 11.5. Photo by Caitlin Kovalkoski</td></tr>
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<br />
I could hear cheers for Jenny, the other woman I had supposedly vanquished back on that big hill and knew she was close. She caught me but once again I surprised myself by not immediately letting her go. The tying up from the last mile eased a little bit and, while I can’t remember what exactly I was thinking during this section, it was basically just: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">don’t let Jenny go. Stay with her.</i> We ran basically side by side for the last mile, until the final curve up a hill when I started sprinting and was surprised I could actually manage it. I held off Jenny, but didn’t catch the woman ahead. She seemed too far gone, but she was actually just 2 seconds ahead, the same distance I put on Jenny. My other regret: I should have started sprinting earlier. (My last 1.1 was 5:46 pace.)<br />
<br />
I finished in 1:18:13 and sixth place. It’s my second fastest half and a course PR, but it felt… just okay. It was certainly better than the previous week’s race (I ran a faster pace for 5 miles longer) but it was far from where I wanted to be at this point. I had hoped to run the full marathon at close to that pace in just five weeks. That doesn’t seem possible now. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Is a PR even possible?</i> I’m not sure. Like I said above, I really struggle in the no-man’s-land of not going for a PR. I just have no desire to go into a marathon, having done all this work, without the intention of going for it. So the realization starting to dawn on me really began to bum me out.<br />
<br />
But the weekend’s activities were far from over: there was brunch with the Oiselle team, dinner and drinks with GRC friends and babies, and on Sunday morning I got to go to an event at <a href="https://www.summittosoul.com/">Summit to Soul</a>, a woman-owned specialty store in DC. They recently launched a partnership with Oiselle which means you can now buy more #flystyle there than anywhere in the country, besides Oiselle’s flagship store in Seattle. (So if you’re in DC, I highly recommend you check it out. And if you live in DC, join them for their weekly <a href="https://www.summittosoul.com/pages/fun-runs">Wednesday night runs</a>!) I gave a talk about my running journey and how big I dared to dream, how much I had to believe in myself and how far I’ve come because of that dreamy ambition. I tried to stress that God has given all of us so more much potential than we know, because I truly believe that. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0VMqOcK_YE-f1NRi0pgeFRqVpB7r_NNw0JDQiRMNeUXNAbwEic92kDkoDZ-KvuCYoOEGvzVc2-gLfv0poWcp9s4xtWZ2RNKvapfMsrO99n5RhT2nHnIrDcq2O4Wk9P17N6PRHWVqzXgJN/s1600/IMG_5231.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="963" data-original-width="1444" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0VMqOcK_YE-f1NRi0pgeFRqVpB7r_NNw0JDQiRMNeUXNAbwEic92kDkoDZ-KvuCYoOEGvzVc2-gLfv0poWcp9s4xtWZ2RNKvapfMsrO99n5RhT2nHnIrDcq2O4Wk9P17N6PRHWVqzXgJN/s320/IMG_5231.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Talking at Summit to Soul. Photo by Samantha Giordano Kim.</td></tr>
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… Maybe it was a talk I needed to hear myself. Maybe my early season goals were a little far-fetched (shocker, I know), maybe the odds are long, but all I can do is my best in the remaining workouts and then spend the taper <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/04/taper-time-to-dos.html">as I always do</a>: trying to shore up belief in myself, my training, and that it will all come together on <a href="https://www.baa.org/races/boston-marathon">April 15</a>.<br />
<br />
Dream big, <br />
TealTealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-42490732226711633802019-03-08T12:41:00.000-05:002019-03-08T12:41:14.328-05:00Race Report/Scouting Mission: Road to GoldThis past weekend I got to go to Atlanta to run <a href="https://www.atlantatrackclub.org/2019RoadtoGold">Road to Gold</a>, a test race on the 2020 Olympic Trials course. The Trials course will be four laps: a 6-mile loop run three times and a final lap covering most of that loop before heading south for the final 2.2 miles. Atlanta Track Club invited all qualified athletes to come run most of the last lap (an 8-mile race) to get a feel for what the course will be like. It was both a scouting mission and an opportunity for a tune-up race/hard workout.<br />
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First, the scouting mission. Here’s what we learned about the Trials. <br />
1. The course is HILLY. <br />
That’s been the main theme of the press since the route was revealed, but I was hoping it might be over exaggerated. IT IS NOT. Even the flat sections (the first out and back we’ll hit on every loop) don’t feel all that flat: it felt like we were always going slightly up (which is annoyingly grating) or slightly down (which is either imperceptible or not that satisfying). It turns out the best downhill is in this section (heading north from mile 1-2) but I didn’t really notice it. The locals kept saying it’s “Atlanta-flat” (they did remove sections of Piedmont Park to make it flatter), but I was comforted when <a href="https://www.runnerspace.com/eprofile.php?event_id=13622&do=news&news_id=564435">other athletes</a> agreed "Atlanta-flat" is actually crazy hilly. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Men's winner Brogan Austin and <br />
a photo that gives a good sense of the hills.<br />
[Credit: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/urimiscott/?hl=en">Michael Scott</a>]</td></tr>
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In my opinion, the worst hill that we’ll hit on all four loops comes just after mile 4. The hardest hills of all though will be in that extra 2.2 we tack on the last loop; these were tough in an 8-mile race, they will be a serious challenge after 23 or 24 miles. The last section also has quite a few turns; even in an 8 mile race it felt like a lot. (Although I think two of these turns were added to circumvent current construction. The Trials course is slightly more straightforward.) But as <a href="https://www.runnerspace.com/eprofile.php?event_id=13622&do=news&news_id=564435">others have speculated</a>, this will make for an exciting finish as a lot could change in those final miles. And good luck to anyone who doesn’t take the warnings seriously and goes out too hard!<br />
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2. It will be an afternoon race. <br />
The other news of the weekend was the men’s race is likely to start at noon, with the women starting a bit later. This is determined by NBC (not Atlanta Track Club) based on when they think they’ll get the most viewers. (This lines up with 2016, when the Trials were on the west coast and started at 10 am.) It will be tough on the athletes, as even in February it could be warm and sunny in the afternoon (it was in the 60s this weekend) and athletes training in much colder conditions won’t be acclimated to that. (Think of when Boston is on the warmer side: with the late start and lack of shade, even just slightly warm temperatures can catch people off guard at Boston. The last few miles of the Atlanta course are pretty exposed, so a sunny day could be tough.) <br />
<br />
3. Atlanta Track Club is going above and beyond.<br />
And finally, although we got a hint of Atlanta Track Club’s commitment to the race and the athletes by the shear fact they put this preview race on, the weekend provided more proof of what a phenomenal job they are doing. They took surveys of all the athletes to ask what we’d like to see at the Trials, what LA did well--and not so well--at the 2016 Trials, and took the time after the race to talk to everyone and get our thoughts. Lots of people (<a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/02/race-report-trials.html">myself included</a>) were disappointed with how LA treated the athletes; it’s clear that Atlanta is going above and beyond to make all of us feel special and on a level playing field. (For instance, they will be helping pay travel/hotel fees for ALL the qualified athletes—not just faster, <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/01/">A-standard</a> ones—even though there will be <a href="https://www.runnersworld.com/news/a25770488/2020-olympic-marathon-trials-field/">more of us than ever</a>.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <br />
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Now for my race: it didn’t go so well. (Although it did serve the purpose of learning everything I wrote above!) I consider myself to be a strength runner, usually good on hills (e.g. <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/04/race-report-charlottesville-marathon.html">Charlottesville</a>, <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html">Pittsburgh</a>) but even though I’m in the middle of Boston training (supposedly focusing on hills) they crushed me. <br />
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But of course, I am in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">middle</i> of training. I took this race as a workout (at the end of a week with two other hard workouts). I felt like things were shifting and starting to come together, and hoped running this as a hard tempo run would continue to point things in that direction. <br />
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I tried not to stress about it too much (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s just a normal workout!</i>), but possibly that just meant I wasn’t as mentally prepared as I should have been. I went out around 5:55 pace (I think? I missed the first mile marker) with the intention to pick it up in the second half. I lost my group by mile 3 and started to struggle a bit, but was surprised mile 4 was decent (turns out it’s downhill). As soon as we hit that marker, a group of Hanson Brooks athletes passed me (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">they were behind me??</i>), clearly with orders to pick it up after four easy miles. Or that’s what I told myself, but truthfully I just totally crumbled from this point on. I never recovered from the hill after mile 4 (above, I call it the worst on the main loop for this reason); it was like a switch flipped that I couldn’t ever flip back. I averaged 5:56 for the first four miles and 6:12 for the second four. I don’t know if mentally I just didn’t recover, if I gave up a bit too much when I realized how far off my goal I was, or what, but I couldn’t get it together and was just surviving until the finish from here on out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSLYSiSKu6xz_ybIr5mT8v1TMb0OW_OkX0_b6vIFKr3PtA-7xc_9roaDy__2zbCHl7Y_-PisLIY9oxYf7DDEJcCXxoSgZZ4x6ljP3kLpSzKn6hsOIx4OsbMa3iH94LAdj9KWFFZpiWVOSX/s1600/IMG_7787.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="1200" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSLYSiSKu6xz_ybIr5mT8v1TMb0OW_OkX0_b6vIFKr3PtA-7xc_9roaDy__2zbCHl7Y_-PisLIY9oxYf7DDEJcCXxoSgZZ4x6ljP3kLpSzKn6hsOIx4OsbMa3iH94LAdj9KWFFZpiWVOSX/s320/IMG_7787.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Credit: Michael Scott]</td></tr>
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The final out and back under the Olympic rings was cool (although when we hit this stretch at mile 24 next year, there may be a sense of "<i>yea yea yea, who cares</i>”), but after that I couldn’t tell where I was going since I had fallen just far enough back I couldn’t see anyone ahead. (Not being able to see anyone also didn’t help my mental fight.) The turns slowed me more than usual as I had to repeatedly ask volunteers, “which way?” (This won’t be a problem at the Trials because of more signage, more participants, and a heck of a lot more spectators lining the roads). One volunteer told me to “Swing, swing, swing” which apparently meant turn right (in my addled mind, I was thinking it was a baseball reference: "<i>Swing harder to drive this home???</i>"). Fortunately she told me to turn before I idiotically almost missed it.<br />
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Even in the final mile I had nothing left and couldn’t summon a kick. My stomach was beginning to revolt, but “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">C’mon I’m almost done, who care</i>s<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">?!</i>” That’s possibly what’s most frustrating: I was trying to try, but it wasn’t working. I’m not entirely sure what went wrong, which is making it hard for me to get over this race. Things were starting to turn around and this feels like six steps backwards. I had hoped being in a race environment would help me run this workout faster than I could alone at home, but that turned out not to be the case. I know it’s just one workout, but as I head into the <a href="https://www.runrocknroll.com/en/events/dc">Rock-n-Roll Half Marathon</a> this weekend, I wanted to have a good one to build confidence going forward.<br />
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And at the moment, I can’t imagine running this course four times. Fortunately, I have a whole year to wrap my mind around it. <br />
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Dream big, <br />
TealTealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-66999103642220137082018-12-10T09:04:00.001-05:002018-12-17T14:09:44.377-05:00Race Report: CIM 2018Like this season's <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/11/race-report-2018-richmond-half-marathon.html" target="_blank">half marathon</a> goals, my early season goals for the marathon needed some adjustment. My A++/pie in the sky <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/03/whats-next.html" target="_blank">goal</a> was a sub-2:37, the Olympic Trials A standard (which comes with a free trip to the Trials). Even when I made it, full of early season optimism, I knew it was bold and probably unrealistic. It would require a PR of over five minutes and running nearly eight minutes faster than I have recently. My more realistic (hopefully!?) B goal was to break 2:40.<br />
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The training never stacked up to 2:37 and try as my dreaming-big brain might it could not rationalize going for that. It wasn’t until November that even sub-2:40 seemed possible, but by then sub-2:40 just didn’t seem exciting enough. I’ve wanted to break 2:40 for years (basically since the day after I <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">ran 2:42</a>) but now that it was (possibly) in my sights, I got greedy and wanted more. Could I break 2:39? My best workout, 16 miles at marathon effort, averaged 6:08 pace. But I told myself that I often run four seconds/mile faster on race day (a fact I relied on heavily before <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">last season’s Pittsburgh</a>) so maybe I could run 6:04 pace, which is a measly hair over 2:39. My other best “workout” was the <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/11/race-report-2018-richmond-half-marathon.html" target="_blank">Richmond half</a>, which I ran two minutes faster than my <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/11/race-report-raleigh-half-marathon.html" target="_blank">tune-up half</a> before CIM in 2014 (where I ran 2:42). Two minutes faster in a half equates to four minutes faster in a marathon, right?? That would put me at low 2:38 (6:02 pace). For some reason, the possibility of running 2:38:XX got me disproportionately more excited than 2:39:XX. <o:p></o:p><br />
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And so I convinced myself to go for 2:38:XX, despite the fact, that uhhh yeah... pulling off the four-seconds-faster-on-race-day trick seemed like a minor miracle at <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">Pittsburgh</a>. (Also, to break 2:39, I’d have to go<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> five </i>seconds faster.) There’s a line in Clueless where Josh (Paul Rudd in his breakout role!) asks Cher (Alicia Silverstone), “What makes you think you can get teachers to change your grades?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Cher <a href="http://www.tzr.io/yarn-clip/9a1e4edf-f436-4185-a812-cb8e4e759b63" target="_blank">responds</a>, “Only the fact that I’ve done it every other semester.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Random and weird as it sounds, that quote always comes to mind when my inner monologue asks what makes me think I can run both faster and farther in a race than a workout. I respond back, “Only the fact that I’ve done it every other semester.” [Insert confident gum twirl.] (Even though I haven’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> and have had flops and <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/05/race-report-boston-2014.html" target="_blank">disappointing races</a>.) <i>I’ve done it before; surely I can do it again. </i>And my pace at <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/11/race-report-2018-richmond-half-marathon.html" target="_blank">Richmond</a> and half-to-marathon conversion was considerably more comforting. All those <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/10/race-report-army-ten-miler-2018.html" target="_blank">other</a> <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/09/september-slump.html" target="_blank">races</a>/workouts that were nowhere near these paces? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ignore those.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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My race plan was to go out in 6:04s (a hair over 2:39 pace), then cut down to 6:00 at half way, hoping to average 6:02 (and finish around 2:38:11). Again, the logic here is bold to say the least, but the confidence I gained from the Richmond half made me think it wasn’t absurd. I’d start at a pace equivalent to what I've done "every other semester" and even if I only managed to pick it up a tiny bit, I could squeeze under 2:39. No matter what, I’d give all I had in the last 10K and fight for every last second there. I really wanted to push myself and finish knowing I couldn't have given any more.</div>
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We made it to Sacramento without any trouble (unlike <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">last CIM</a>), Baby was in an amazingly good mood (unlike <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">Pittsburgh</a>) and watching her run around excitedly was distracting, keeping me surprisingly calm. The weather was perfect, the course was fast, I had no excuses, just like I<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/Bp45l_Ih4s-/" target="_blank"> told myself</a> before the Richmond Half. It didn’t seem quite as reassuring (you know, given that the marathon is twice as far...) but I wasn’t as big a bundle of nerves as usual.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Even on race morning, I remained strangely calm. It was such a contrast to <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">Pittsburgh</a> where I was so nervous I could barely eat. I felt like I was in denial, like I would get to mile 20 and wonder how the heck I got there. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Am I mentally prepared for what is about to happen? </i>It seemed like maybe I wasn't<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.</i> I kept ignoring it, even when we arrived at the start and waited in a tent with 200 other fidgeting, overly-hydrated elite athletes. And then we were in the corral and the gun went off… <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ok, this is happening. Stay calm in these early miles. Don’t get wrapped up in the excitement, slower is better.</i> The first and second miles were right around my goal of 6:04s. I found myself just behind a group of four or so talkative guys and Rachel Hyland, who I recognized from the <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/01/race-report-jacksonville-bank-half.html" target="_blank">Jacksonville Half</a> and <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/02/race-report-trials.html" target="_blank">Olympic trials</a>. (Also, she <a href="https://www.bostonglobe.com/metro/2018/04/16/how-local-teacher-rachel-hyland-pulled-off-top-five-finish-boston-marathon/fmD8cAR8ciInSiqG0i94iP/story.html" target="_blank">finished fourth</a> at this year’s Boston.) But the third mile was too fast (5:57) so I tried to let the group go. The fourth mile was still too quick (5:59); <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">just relax</i>. The biggest down hills were in this first section, so maybe they were helping. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t beat yourself up over too fast or too slow, just get back on it. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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The next few miles I congratulated myself on backing off just a bit and hitting a few miles a second or two over pace, so it seemed I was back to averaging 6:04s. I tried to stay a little ways back from the guys and Rachel, thinking they were a hair fast so if I stayed a bit behind them I’d be good. But I kept drifting back to them. At one point I heard one of them say we were on 6:02 pace. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No, we’re not, we’re doing 6:04s</i>. (Hindsight: They were right. I was just clinging to the hope I was correctly executing my race plan.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An early race smile and wave. Feeling good.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Around mile 6, as I again tried to let a gap grow between Rachel’s pack and me, another woman I was running near asked my race plan. I said 6:04-6:05 (</span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">I really should slow down to 6:05 for a few miles…</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">) and it seemed like we could work together, but I immediately lost her at a water stop. (Hindsight: Probably because I was still averaging under 6:02 pace, which I didn’t admit to myself. I told myself I was back on my planned 6:04s.)</span></div>
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The miles clicked by. As always, my family was out in full force cheering, so I focused on the next time I’d see them or have to grab a water bottle. If I felt bad for a mile, I told myself it was just a bad patch, it was too early to truly be tired. If I felt good, I told myself it was too early for that too and not to get ahead of myself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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By mile 9, I was pretty much "bang on" (for some inexplicable reason, my inner voice favors British turns of phrase mid-race). I was feeling good, but suddenly found myself at the front of Rachel’s pack. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This isn’t right. </i>Mile ten was just under 6 flat. And the next mile was 6 flat. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Too fast.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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I was enjoying the guys talking, though. It reminded me of Chris Mocko, the <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">pacer from 2014’s CIM</a>. At one point they mentioned singing during a previous race and I secretly wanted them to go ahead and sing again. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’ll take any distractions possible, please and thank you. </i>But I needed to slow down. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Relax, stay behind this pack until the half.</i> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Or… maybe I’m having an incredible, truly special race! Maybe I’ll hit the half ahead of pace and have an even better day than expected!</i> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No, it’s too early for that. Just relax.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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At some point, I thought I overheard Rachel tell the guys that her plan was to pick it up at the half. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That’s my plan too! Perfect! </i>At this point I finally accepted I was running with this group and not just behind them. I realized how lucky I was to have them; even if it meant going out a hair fast, it was worth it to have people to run with. And I didn’t want to lose them. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We hit the half just ahead of my goal, in 1:19:18 (6:04 pace would have been 1:19:32). <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Step one: check. Now: pick it up.</i> Rachel and I (and I think one other woman) dropped the pace and lost the guys in this section. I repeatedly assured myself that I felt good. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I can do this, I am doing this. One mile at a time.</i> These can be the trickiest miles mentally because the finish is still so far but you’re starting to feel the effort. I remembered what Mocko said <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">last time</a>: these were the miles to focus. We were successfully hitting them around 6:00 pace, exactly according to plan.<o:p></o:p></div>
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By mile 18, we were a group of three women: Rachel, Bria Wetsch, and myself. Bria said something encouraging about the power of our little pack and Rachel responded back about how we’re coming in strong. I wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the energy or the words. Bria mentioned the hills we ending soon, which was a relief. Everyone talks about CIM as a fast course, but it does roll quite a bit and I was glad it was ending. But still: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I have handled the hills according to plan, everything is going perfectly, I have women to work with, I am doing this!</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to stay with Bria (left, in black) <br />
and Rachel (front, in blue and yellow).</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mile 19 was a blazing 5:56, which was simultaneously awesome</span><i style="font-size: 12pt;"> (Oh man, we are really crushing it!) </i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and terrifyin</span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">g (Actually, if we could all <b>please</b> slow down that’d be great.) </i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A little while later (things start to get hazy) another woman caught us and zoomed by. Rachel went with her. There was no way I could. Fortunately Bria hung back a bit too. </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Oh thank goodness, I can stay with her. I <b>need to</b> stay with her.</i></div>
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But soon enough Bria gapped me too. I tried to not let the gap grow, playing the often futile game of telling myself to keep the distance between us the same.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>I knew I’d slow alone. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Just get to the next mile marker. Don’t think about what’s left. One mile at a time. </i>I'd been praying the whole time, but now the tone got desperate.</div>
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In the past, I’ve thought of the last 10K as <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/04/race-report-charlottesville-marathon_10.html" target="_blank">my place to shine</a>. But here I was slowing. Miles 20-22 were about 6:04 pace, but when I glanced at my watch between the mile markers the pace seemed dangerously slower. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Am I going to make it? C’mon, God. Help. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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My power pack was long gone, the gap insurmountable. I honestly wasn’t sure if I had another mile in me, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other, trying to make it to the next mile marker.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> I can’t drop out when I’m this close to getting a PR. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Oiselle’s Cowbell Corner was around 23.5 and getting there became my sole purpose. And holy cow, what a boost. It was so loud I felt like Desi coming down Boylston or Shalane cursing through Central Park. I couldn’t help but smile (hindsight: probably more of a strained grimace) which reminded me of the advice to smile when it hurts, <a href="https://www.runnersworld.co.za/motivation/can-smiling-make-you-a-better-runner/" target="_blank">Eliud Kipchoge style</a>. I tried to smile more once past the team, but I’m not sure it helped much. In my focus to get to Cowbell Corner, I missed mile marker 23, which was possibly for the best. Miles 23 and 24 averaged 6:12 pace. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As I made the turn after mile 24 I heard my Mom screaming wildly. I hadn’t expected her to be there, which <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">reminded me of 2014</a> when I hadn’t expected her cheers at the end then either. In that race, this was the place I started to pick it up. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">C’mon, Teal. Almost there. Two tiny little miles to go. </i>But I wasn’t picking it up. Everything ached and hurt and I couldn’t get my legs to go. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last mile.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I worried I was slowing too much, giving up too much at the end. 2:38 seemed out of the picture, would I miss sub-2:40? I knew I had been pretty on pace through 20 miles, but what was this dramatic slow down costing me? As always, I had the mile 25 split memorized. My original goal was to hit it in 2:30:50. As I got close I realized I was nearly a minute off (actually 2:31:37).</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And suddenly I couldn’t remember which goal 2:30:50 corresponded to: 2:38 low (6:02 pace) or 2:38:59?? </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">If I’m nearly a minute off 2:38:59, I might miss sub-2:40. Oh crap oh crap oh crap. C’mon, God, help me at least break 2:40</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. (Note: my memory, logic, and math skills get as wobbly as my legs do.)</span></div>
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I was just doing anything and everything I could to get to that final turn (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">8th street, c’mon 8th street</i>) and felt like I was giving a valiant effort, but I continued to slow. I hit mile 26 at about 2:38 (I think? Everything is questionable at this point…) and <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">once again</a> I had two minutes to run about a quarter of a mile. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I can make it: I’m going to break 2:40, thank God.</i> Past my screaming family, turn to the finish line and actually (unlike <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/09/blast-from-past-race-report-boston-2011.html" target="_blank">many races</a> where you make the final turn and it still seems like forever to the line) the finish was right there. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh thank God.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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I finished in 2:39:11 (2:39:08 chip time, 6:04 pace) and was just So. Incredibly. Relieved. To. Finally. Be. Done. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4gIIGhdIxbIwNSjkNHP7gXphCXEd6uuU4WQ-x37mDBAOqOSSPHD6pRDhI7JlJbkDa9UthxN2e8D0hItGA6kDPYbparMyZJoC9sP3ma5xTw-f-bHD01E46VrhXmPBDTp5sUAYmZ4ikgKTD/s1600/IMG_6444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="772" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4gIIGhdIxbIwNSjkNHP7gXphCXEd6uuU4WQ-x37mDBAOqOSSPHD6pRDhI7JlJbkDa9UthxN2e8D0hItGA6kDPYbparMyZJoC9sP3ma5xTw-f-bHD01E46VrhXmPBDTp5sUAYmZ4ikgKTD/s400/IMG_6444.JPG" width="331" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Done.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was thrilled with the PR (over three minutes and four years in the making), but also a little salty about how close I got to my totally-made-up, no-one-cares-but-me goal of 2:38:XX. I wondered if I had known (or calculated accurately) how close I was to breaking 2:39 if I could have pulled anything more out of me. It turns out at mile 25 I was actually on 2:39:00 pace. Maybe my tradition of memorizing the mile 25 marker (and more crucially not remembering what time it corresponded to) backfired. Instead I think it helped scare me a bit, thinking (wrongly or not) that sub-2:40 might be in jeopardy.</span></div>
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2:40 is certainly a nice barrier to break, but I spent so long talking myself up that sub-2:40 no longer seems like that big a deal; I’m on to dreaming of other things. Not that I’m not happy with it, because of course I am. But mostly I’m excited I’m three minutes closer to that A++, pie in the sky goal of 2:37. It doesn't seem so outlandish anymore.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I wished I had more to give at the end, but I’m proud of how bold I was. Maybe I should have been more intimidated by taking such a large chunk of time off my PR (and more than 5 minutes off my time from the spring). Maybe reading this makes it seem like I should have gone out a hair slower. But really I’m incredibly grateful to have had the pack I did for nearly 20 miles, who made running PR pace seem not so impossible. I’ll certainly work on re-mastering that last 10K, but for now, I wouldn’t change a thing about how I raced. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Oiselle had a campaign a while back that said, “Be brave, get ugly.” I was brave. It got ugly. But I stuck it out and pulled off a big PR. And I’m proud of that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDT7vQxG9csN_q45DXLs05VE49Fw9OU-Ow2dOvorRtsrVh6a-4-FGeIFVVPH58bNVOXbXBL8m86MU0jGqZDRxEcVEiSKby_G6ZGb5XR1HdV_NwNtqb3odGaW1icvRNHle47GEMlEtjqIk5/s1600/IMG_1876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDT7vQxG9csN_q45DXLs05VE49Fw9OU-Ow2dOvorRtsrVh6a-4-FGeIFVVPH58bNVOXbXBL8m86MU0jGqZDRxEcVEiSKby_G6ZGb5XR1HdV_NwNtqb3odGaW1icvRNHle47GEMlEtjqIk5/s400/IMG_1876.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Couldn't have done it without my <br />
amazing-as-always cheer squad.<br />
(Not pictured: photographer/spectating planner Dad.)</td></tr>
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Dream big, </div>
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Teal </div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-5902852204830113722018-11-16T13:28:00.001-05:002018-11-16T13:28:10.649-05:00Race Report: 2018 Richmond Half MarathonAt the beginning of the season I write down my goals. They are always full of <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2015/11/goals.html" target="_blank">dreamy ambition</a> based on the hope of training and life going absolutely flawlessly. Then training begins…. and reality sets in. Workouts don’t go perfectly. <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/09/september-slump.html" target="_blank">Early season races</a> are ridiculously warm and humid. So are <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/09/september-slump.html" target="_blank">midseason races</a>. Slowly over the course of the season, I realign my goals with what might be more possible. This season my pie-in-the-sky A+ goal for the Richmond half marathon was to break 1:17 (5:52 pace). I haven’t raced any distance at that pace ever, so yea, it was a little crazy. And given my September and October performances, it seemed near impossible. An adjustment was necessary. <o:p></o:p><br />
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But I was stubbornly reluctant to back off too much. Despite my race performances, I was running workouts faster than ever. Based solely on one tempo run that went surprisingly well, I thought I could run 5:55 pace, which would put me at about 1:17:30. Race day was going to be perfect weather, so I had no excuses. It would be my last big effort before CIM, my last chance to prove to myself that I truly am in the best shape of my life, and time to finally get that first official PR post baby.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But in <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/03/race-report-rnr-dc-half.html" target="_blank">typical Teal</a> fashion, after I made this more realistic goal, I thought about how I could twist it into meeting my original goal: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’ll go out conservatively </i>(e.g. 5:55 pace)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, and maybe I can pick it up in the second half? </i>But going out at 5:55 isn’t exactly conservative. I have only run that pace for a 5K (and not recently). Running that pace would mean I’d run 10K and 10 mile PRs in the middle of a half marathon. I ignored that logic, except to remind myself that I should certainly not go out <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">faster </i>than 5:55. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Race morning was a bit windy but otherwise perfect as promised. The first two miles were a hair over 5:55, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">perfect</i>. We were running into the wind and I tried to visualize <a href="https://www.richmondmarathon.com/race-details/course-maps.aspx#half_marathon_course_map" target="_blank">the course</a> and how this meant we’d have the wind at our backs at the end. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Look at me, staying positive! </i>I found myself in a little pack of four or so women and tried to quiet my over analytical mind (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Is this too fast? Is this too slow?)</i> by latching onto them. But the third mile was a little fast (5:50) and as we headed towards an out and back, I got dropped. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That’s okay, the pace was a little fast for this early. Just keep them in sight. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeDopAza0s6_AaXYutEyTbMk8INWcafK3A3_7F8efu0KRe5EhQU7Nb-Wg6vk9Xp1YEHKD2uidVkCW0EXyz2WdDrb12Zh2HmwDa8jitTyuE1tijedCT4-8pzKuONNiVhHPyMzVc4-ycr8Io/s1600/rvahalf2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeDopAza0s6_AaXYutEyTbMk8INWcafK3A3_7F8efu0KRe5EhQU7Nb-Wg6vk9Xp1YEHKD2uidVkCW0EXyz2WdDrb12Zh2HmwDa8jitTyuE1tijedCT4-8pzKuONNiVhHPyMzVc4-ycr8Io/s320/rvahalf2.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: <a href="https://www.youngrunnerphotos.com/Race-Photo-Galleries/Richmond-Half-Full-Marathon-2018/" target="_blank">Cheryl Young</a></td></tr>
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On the out and back, I tried to count the women ahead. The top five would win money and in recent years, 1:17:30 would get fifth. <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/03/race-report-rnr-dc-half.html" target="_blank">As always</a>, it seemed like a whole mess of women had flown by me at the start, I felt like I must be in twentieth place. But the sun was in my eyes, so it was hard to see who was coming back; I guessed I might be in eleventh. The women who had just dropped me had joined a larger group ahead. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep that pack in sight and try to reel it in. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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While the elevation chart for this race looks flat, it doesn’t seem so flat when you’re running it. The worst of the hills are in a park from mile 5.5-7.5. In Deena Kastor’s book, she wrote that she would mouth, “Charge!” to herself on each uphill. So I tried that and passed two women on the hill at the park entrance. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh yea, I’m <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/04/race-report-charlottesville-marathon.html" target="_blank">good on hills</a>.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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I knew the 10K split would be a PR, but was pleasantly surprised it wasn’t by just <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/04/race-report-2018-cherry-blossom.html" target="_blank">a second or two</a> but by over twenty. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">10K PR: check. One PR down, two to go.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyYkpXKXlE8MJaQmgkCr_YE7i7CS-MoBN5ZJhNBIvGuWRPCKcVnUK2lhCWUv5cL38vwDZp4xnNe8zQpWBdJbg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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I tried not to be intimidated by the pace, but to take it one mile at a time. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Just get through the park, through these last rolls.</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I can do it, I am doing it</i>. When I looked at my watch between miles and saw the pace hovering over 6 minutes, I created a new goal: don’t let any mile be over 6. Mile 8 was close with a 5:59, but I was more relieved I had managed another sub-6 than worried my time was inching higher. I caught another woman around mile 9 and then had my sights set on Esther Atkins. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Can I catch her??</i> I thought I could. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m going to really press from 10 on and catch her. Just get to 10 miles. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJGpH4S9vTc4mYirv5ptj2NRko0UodFIz3X-W_osf4YsSad6Og7mXn7-msNjCpfcPJA-HVcNvHZCV_8ledFTCW-HTSDHTeW0uyA0JrjdvnqpcFxxC5q_Ui-Rly80cIr2qGDQk88TuKcslE/s1600/rvahalf5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJGpH4S9vTc4mYirv5ptj2NRko0UodFIz3X-W_osf4YsSad6Og7mXn7-msNjCpfcPJA-HVcNvHZCV_8ledFTCW-HTSDHTeW0uyA0JrjdvnqpcFxxC5q_Ui-Rly80cIr2qGDQk88TuKcslE/s320/rvahalf5.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: <a href="https://www.youngrunnerphotos.com/Race-Photo-Galleries/Richmond-Half-Full-Marathon-2018/" style="font-size: 12.8px;" target="_blank">Cheryl Young</a></td></tr>
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10 miles was another PR (unofficially, since there was no timing mat) but for some dumb reason I did the math wrong (10 miles is one of the easiest places to calculate splits! C’mon mid-race Teal!) and thought I was over 5:55 pace by 11 seconds. (Actually, at 59:11, I was just one second over.) I needed to press these last few miles, which was my plan all along. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Here we go.</i> <o:p></o:p></div>
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Soon after 10, I saw my family. I was still feeling good so tried to give them a big wave to let them know. But as soon as I put my arm up, a flood of exhaustion hit me, like holding up my arm was more than I could handle. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Huh, I guess I am more tired than I think. </i>Continuing to put one foot in front of the other seemed easier than waving, so I stuck with that. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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But I wasn’t picking it up as much as I needed and I think I finally I accepted that sub-1:17 wasn’t going to happen. Esther had taken off around mile 11 and so my plan to catch her was also failing. But around mile 12 I could see her catching a group of two or three women ahead. I hadn’t seen anyone around me besides Esther for miles, but now they were in my sights. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Can I catch them?? </i>I had no idea what place I was in but I guessed one of those women was in fifth. If I could catch the pack I could maybe snag a spot in the money. But I wasn’t going any faster and I was quickly running out of room. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As we made the final turn and hit the steep downhill to the finish, I knew I didn’t have enough space but I tried to finish as strong as I could. (I actually hate this race’s sharp drop at the end: the pounding is magnified on your already aching legs and it’s hard to resist the urge to brake.) I figured I was still running well enough to break 1:18 but wasn’t really sure and had lost track of splits (plus I was thrown off by my erroneous math at mile 10). So when I saw the clock flashing low 1:17s it was a relief. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I finished in 1:17:26, for the third PR of the day. I was psyched I had finally pulled off a big (90 second) PR and had to be satisfied that I wasn’t *that* far off my early season goal. I also ran perfectly even splits, 5:54 pace at 10K and the finish. But the last two miles left a bad taste in my mouth; I didn’t compete well and I feel like there was more left that I didn’t tap into. I wished I had pressed harder to try to catch those women. I wished I had gone when Esther went and dug a little deeper. I finished in eighth, which was disappointing since I really thought top 5 was possible. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But the string of PRs is an obvious sign that I am in the best shape of my life, for the first time in nearly three years. I’ve finally come fully back from having a baby and am running better than ever. The season started badly, with embarrassingly slow races, but I kept my head down, kept plugging away, and trusted things would turn around. It took longer than expected, but it’s clear they have.</div>
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Oh yea, and one more (incredibly unofficial) PR while we’re at it. My last 5K (from 10 to 13.1) is a 5K PR by two seconds. So I guess the <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/06/summer-of-speed.html" target="_blank">summer of speed</a> is more like the fall of fast. That’s fine by me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://runsra.org/california-international-marathon/" target="_blank">One more PR</a> to go.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjALapx4rvnHr5c-FAEkhbDkng4Zqfh-zvkSME34FHqKcjUaPQoy3JjoxQx72-AgmHnxj3PogTrzE3E6dTwd4qs1px3uZkD7yNlX3iz1m5t7m82-3_znvjBmAFAi2OWzM6eryYKU30ryx9d/s1600/IMG_6188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjALapx4rvnHr5c-FAEkhbDkng4Zqfh-zvkSME34FHqKcjUaPQoy3JjoxQx72-AgmHnxj3PogTrzE3E6dTwd4qs1px3uZkD7yNlX3iz1m5t7m82-3_znvjBmAFAi2OWzM6eryYKU30ryx9d/s320/IMG_6188.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All smiles on a day full of PRs.</td></tr>
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Dream big, </div>
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Teal </div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-67078941130423799612018-10-12T14:01:00.001-04:002018-10-17T20:36:00.448-04:00Race Report: Army Ten Miler 2018After the <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/09/september-slump.html" target="_blank">Navy Half</a>, things seemed to turn around. The weather improved, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BoUVTzrFxR3/?taken-by=runnerteal" target="_blank">workouts went better</a>, the September slump was ending! Maybe I could pull off the same comeback as 2014, when a <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/09/nonrace-report-rock-n-roll-philly-half.html" target="_blank">bad September race</a> was forgotten by a <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/10/race-report-2014-army-ten-miler.html" target="_blank">big PR</a> at the Army Ten Miler and the trajectory of the season seemed to shift. <o:p></o:p><br />
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But the weather had one last (please let it be the last!!) dose of humidity to smother us with, just in time for Army. I didn’t want a repeat of the Navy Half, where I completely crumbled in the second half, so I knew I had to adjust my goals even more. I put aside my hopes of PRing at this race and tried to take a more modest approach. I wouldn’t worry about outcome goals like time or place, instead I’d focus on process goals, which are more about strategies used and aren't affected by things out of our control (like weather and other competitors). My new goal became to negative split. I’d go out slow and pick it up at halfway. Surely I could do that and come away feeling successful, which is what I needed most of all. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 2. Taking it so easy I can do this with my eyes closed.</td></tr>
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I started slowly, a few seconds back from the line, and tried not to worry about the women surging ahead. But <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/09/september-slump.html" target="_blank">once again</a>, it was hard to turn off my overanalyzing inner monologue. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Is this easy enough??</i> I told myself it was and I hit 5 miles just over 6:10 pace, the slow end of my “start easy” range. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">OK, first part of the mission was a success. Surely I can pick it up from here.</i> Around the loop by the 10K, I felt good, catching some of the men around me, feeling like I had another gear to shift to. I caught a woman as we started up the long, endless (~2 mile) bridge/highway, and reminded myself this time I was racing smarter; catching people rather than being caught. But the next two miles were more of the same pace-wise, a hair over 6:10. I wasn’t actually picking it up at all. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Mile 8 was even worse, the bridge hadn’t ended yet and went up ever so slightly to swing us around to the off ramp. The split was the worst of the day. Rather than getting faster, I was slowing drastically, again. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I told myself to really push the last two miles, and coming off the highway (it’s always a joy to get the heck of 395) and seeing my family made me smile through the pouring sweat. But once more, the split was slower than expected, nearly as slow as mile 8. From the bridge onwards I had slowly reeled in a friend and I finally pulled alongside and slightly ahead in the last half mile. I finally found another gear to push with, but it seemed in vain given how ridiculously off my goals I was. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">At least I can make this mile the fastest. At least I can finish strong. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last mile.</td></tr>
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I finished in ninth, in 1:02:01. If I had known my chip time was so close to breaking 1:02 would I have kicked harder? I don’t know. I was so far off my early season goals it’s embarrassing. I didn’t even get my “surely I can at least negative split” process goal either, as my second half was 20 seconds slower than my “slow start.” Surprisingly, ninth is the highest I’ve ever placed at Army, which shows how much the weather slowed things (my best time at Army is almost 2 minutes faster).</div>
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But I am, as always, so sick of blaming the weather. I know it affects times, obviously, but everyone is dealing with the same conditions. I seem to melt a little more: am I psyching myself out too early? Mostly I find that humidity saps me of my fight. I need to find a way to fight back harder. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I hoped that Army would be the moment that things turned around, like they did <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/10/race-report-2014-army-ten-miler.html" target="_blank">in 2014</a>. But I need to remember that I can’t capture 2014’s magic exactly, things will be different season to season. (Not least because the weather was nearly ideal for Army that year.) I <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/03/race-report-rnr-dc-half.html" target="_blank">continue</a> to struggle with learning that lesson, that I can’t compare everything to previous seasons. I need to find a new way to make some magic this time around. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Dream big, </div>
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Teal</div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-80047032168090959382018-09-28T13:03:00.000-04:002018-09-28T13:03:48.256-04:00September SlumpThe <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/06/summer-of-speed.html" target="_blank">summer of speed</a> ended with a thud. My goal 5K was grossly humid (a constant torment, see below) and I went out at the pace my track workouts told me was possible, hoping to finally master the bravery and suffering required of a fast 5K. Instead, I <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BlyJ7h0lDE6/?taken-by=runnerteal" target="_blank">fell apart hard</a> and finished way off my goal. <o:p></o:p><br />
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So I’m still not great at 5Ks, so what? There will be another time to try to conquer that beast again. It was time to get back to my bread and [peanut] butter: marathon training. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The first few weeks went well, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BmjMx2-l2jp/?taken-by=runnerteal" target="_blank">surprisingly well</a>. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe the 5K training is paying off?!</i> But while on vacation at the end of August I had <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BnFbI7BleLs/?taken-by=runnerteal" target="_blank">a bad workout</a>. I blamed vacation and being out of my rhythm, but when I got home, it was more of the same. Every workout was wildly off my goal pace and twice I cut them short, totally discouraged. It was always 98% humidity, but<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">:</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Hadn’t I managed decent workouts despite the humidity all summer? <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Going into my first race of the season, the <a href="https://www.navyhalf.com/" target="_blank">Navy Half Marathon</a>, I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t really have the long, hard efforts to back myself up, but I tried to focus on the workouts I was hitting just a few weeks ago. I hoped to run around 1:20 (6:06 pace) and thought that would put me near the top. Given my shaky confidence, I decided starting at 6:10 would be more realistic. When that seemed ambitious too, I tried to stay positive. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t give up on yourself before the race even starts. </i>I didn’t look at the humidity.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Better to not psych myself out. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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For the first mile I tried not to go out too hard and found myself with two other women; collectively our pack was in second. I kept telling myself to take it easy and when the split (6:16) was slower than my plan of 6:10, I took it as a good sign. Over the next couple miles I kept trying to run relaxed and not worry that the splits were closer to 6:15s than 6:10s. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It </i>is<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> humid, so slower is probably smarter.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPQHNSe2CHO6MZdVxfd6-DqlzzQGCrT-0LMRZm9nsWSvKqFocwTOZ_yIq55_LGKGs9zRkUFNEl2sbjxKLzKffewUEY1Rq_i2ljDWYq9LNEMRoL8ERxb4C2Vj3Nw-h2tJrH-8ji8H88lXm/s1600/navyhalf18.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPQHNSe2CHO6MZdVxfd6-DqlzzQGCrT-0LMRZm9nsWSvKqFocwTOZ_yIq55_LGKGs9zRkUFNEl2sbjxKLzKffewUEY1Rq_i2ljDWYq9LNEMRoL8ERxb4C2Vj3Nw-h2tJrH-8ji8H88lXm/s320/navyhalf18.2.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The early miles.<br />[Photo credit: <a href="https://www.youngrunnerphotos.com/" target="_blank">Cheryl Young</a>]</td></tr>
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But despite trying to stay relaxed, I was obsessing over my effort way too much for so early in the race. I couldn’t shut my brain off and was constantly scrutinizing how I felt, which ended with thinking that I really just wanted to drop out. I told myself I had to at least make it to my family (around mile 7) but that reminded me I couldn’t drop out there either. I had dragged them to DC for this race, I had to make it worth it. (Having my family at races continues to be one of my best <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">mid-race motivators</a>.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Around mile 4 my old teammate Kerry caught up to me. I was happy to get to run with her, it’s been a long time since we’ve run together. I remembered that (possibly?) the last time we had run side-by-side through Hains Point was <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/01/snowzilla.html" target="_blank">a workout</a> leading up the 2016 Trials. Despite Kerry’s valiant efforts helping me that day, the workout had gone terribly. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yikes, don’t think about that! Today will be better.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzhaBZNAO5jPddiiAQwD_0eTNie4iBQPg_xwYsmKay794_NgqRmS8yR7l1FIrQ0Cszo9mEH_Bm7GWW_Z5-WlQscy9iDOrDLxRi-xiP7jQltl3YTISxDASiCuhzeu8lTvtKyGQ6cJtz4U1e/s1600/navyhalf18.4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzhaBZNAO5jPddiiAQwD_0eTNie4iBQPg_xwYsmKay794_NgqRmS8yR7l1FIrQ0Cszo9mEH_Bm7GWW_Z5-WlQscy9iDOrDLxRi-xiP7jQltl3YTISxDASiCuhzeu8lTvtKyGQ6cJtz4U1e/s320/navyhalf18.4.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Side by side with Kerry.<br />[Photo credit: <a href="https://www.youngrunnerphotos.com/" style="font-size: 12.8px;" target="_blank">Cheryl Young</a><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">]</span></td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/10/race-reports-2-for-1-navy-half-and-army.html" target="_blank">Last year</a>, the combination of a super caffeinated gel and seeing my family had been like rocket fuel, so I tried to replicate it by scarfing down a gel before mile 7. But I struggled to get it down and lost Kerry. I knew if I let her go I’d fall apart and sure enough, the unraveling began.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I did get to see my family just after that, and Baby had learned a new phrase “Go, Mommy!” which was the highlight of the race. But on the out-and-back up Rock Creek Parkway I was slowing drastically and waiting for the inevitable. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">When will I be caught? </i>I was now in third and figured the women from the first few miles along with other friends couldn’t be far behind. I couldn’t believe how much I was slowing and I just wanted to stop. But maybe the reason I was running so poorly was because I had given up on myself too much recently, and I really needed a longer, harder effort. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No matter what, I need to finish the workout.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOuu6UhxanGmUf66XqYGP2N47uX4a8kRQbOklpVeMtAoRYakiL8S4xFIskpBbsflNcdpFFwsZpUAG7zYiXe0Ca25c8vj2fJ5pasiqukGGE4M-WfthGPwe7h_8iLoNqx4KQrPwsKDylwuv/s1600/20180916_075253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOuu6UhxanGmUf66XqYGP2N47uX4a8kRQbOklpVeMtAoRYakiL8S4xFIskpBbsflNcdpFFwsZpUAG7zYiXe0Ca25c8vj2fJ5pasiqukGGE4M-WfthGPwe7h_8iLoNqx4KQrPwsKDylwuv/s320/20180916_075253.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Go, Mommy!"</td></tr>
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A slight change in the course meant we had to endure a steep hill at the turn around at mile 8.5. I slowly shuffled up it and on the way down could see my competitors coming for me. Despite the cheers of the other runners heading for the turn around (thank you all!!), I continued to crumble. Around mile 11 another old teammate, Maura, caught me. She, like Kerry, tried to urge me to keep up but I couldn’t hang on. By the last mile it was all I could do to not stop and walk. In the last quarter mile I was passed by yet another friend and had no response. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I finished way off my goal pace and place and left feeling completely defeated, similar to how I felt after my last 5K. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But a half is more in my wheelhouse, what’s wrong with me? </i>I did at least finish and was crazy sore (and dehydrated) afterward, which told me that—no matter how slow—it was still a tough workout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Which reminds me of something I wrote after a nearly identical race, <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/09/nonrace-report-rock-n-roll-philly-half.html" target="_blank">2014's Rock-n-Roll Philly</a>. It was also humid, my early pace was too ambitious, I fell apart and essentially jogged it in. But despite a similar September slump, that season ended well, with <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">a huge PR at CIM</a>. Sometimes I get caught up trying to prove my fitness in a workout or at a race, but that’s not the point of these early season efforts. Instead <a href="https://twitter.com/ReidCoolsaet/status/1038388380705480707" target="_blank">the point is to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gain</i> fitness</a>, so I’m focusing on doing the work, taking care of myself, and knowing there’s plenty of time to turn things around.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the meantime Baby continues to say “Go, Mommy” at random times, which is always encouraging.<br />
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Dream big,<br />
Teal</div>
Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-26369273912011378352018-07-27T14:25:00.001-04:002018-07-28T19:14:10.597-04:00Race Reports: Cul-de-sac 5K #3 and a Track MileThe <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/06/summer-of-speed.html" target="_blank">summer of speed </a>continues with the last race of the Cul-de-sac 5K series and my first track race in 15 years. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Cul-de-sac 5K #3<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
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After coming in fourth and second in the first two races, I really wanted to win one. And in the back of my mind, where the crazy-over-the-top ambitious part lives, I thought if I could somehow pull out a win, there was a teeny tiny chance that I might be able to pull off the series win. The series is scored like a track meet (10 points for first, 9 for second, 8 for third, etc.) and after two races I was two points behind. Getting the overall title involved some kind of <a href="https://www.express.co.uk/sport/football/981045/World-Cup-group-stage-tie-breakers-Fair-play-rule-yellow-cards" target="_blank">World Cup elimination math</a>: not only did I need to win, but Current Leader needed to get third, giving us the same point total. Then it would come down to cumulative time; going into the last race she had sixteen seconds on me, so I also needed to beat her by at least that much.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Right, well that seemed unlikely, especially since I had not beaten her at all yet. But if none of that worked out, I at least wanted to have won one of these races. That was motivation enough. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The weather was in between the previous two races (88<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">°</span> with a feels like temp of 94<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">°</span>) but at this point I felt mostly used to it; I wasn’t obsessing over it at least. (<a href="https://www.runwashington.com/2016/06/06/humidity/" target="_blank">Acclimatization at its best</a>!)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Race plan was to run relatively relaxed the first mile, but not obsess over pace, and then start pushing at mile 2. I was of course hoping to go faster than <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/07/race-reports-cul-de-sac-5k-1-and-2.html" target="_blank">the previous two</a>, but I didn’t want to obsess over the pace; I just wanted to focus on pushing and not berating myself for going too slow (like the first race) or screwing myself up thinking I was going out too fast (like the second race). I forbid myself from looking at my watch at all the first mile and tried sticking with a guy who I regrettably let get away from me in the previous races. I allowed myself to glance at my watch at the 1-mile marker, but I hit the wrong button and couldn’t really see the split; I think it was 5:55ish. (For the amount of time I use my watch and obsess over splits, you’d be surprised how often I screw it up <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/02/race-report-trials.html" target="_blank">mid-race</a>.) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Whatever, doesn’t matter, good enough. Time to push, only two miles left</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Through the three out-and-backs I was in first and saw that Current Leader was in third. (Second place was a woman who got second in the first race, but skipped the next week so wasn’t eligible for the series competition). <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Seriously, is this happening? Could I actually pull off <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">both</b> wins? Wait a minute, don’t get carried away, I’ve been caught and beaten by both these women before.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Through the second mile I tried to press harder than I had the other weeks and to use the fear of being caught to keep pushing. Once again I only allowed myself to look at my watch at the mile marker. (12:01 for two miles, so the second mile was probably too slow, but not as bad as previous weeks.) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Right, ok, whatever. This is the last mile, the last time I have to run this race, the last chance to push all the way to the finish</i>. With half a mile left I tried to push harder still, but wondered whether I had enough to fight if anyone caught me. The negative thoughts started swirling (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m going to lose this right at the end!</i>); I had to keep reminding myself that so far those were just fears and not reality: I was still winning and just needed to focus on getting my butt across the finish line as fast as possible and not worry about anything else. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I didn’t believe I had it until I rounded the final turn and crossed the line in 18:36, my fastest time of the series. I was happy to run faster each race, but the time still isn’t where I hoped it would be at this point. I was also happy to finally get a race win, but still wasn’t sure about the series competition; while waiting for the results I convinced myself that I had gotten second. When they finally announced the results, it was a shock: I had pulled it off. The tiebreaker rules worked in my favor and I won with a slightly faster cumulative time. (Happily, they didn’t have to go to <a href="https://www.usatoday.com/story/sports/soccer/worldcup/2018/06/28/senegal-japan-tiebreaker-fair-play-world-cup/742176002/" target="_blank">yellow cards</a>.)<o:p></o:p><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUV7n1w8zcT4SpH0_pIJ6p2eeBLJ9JGZoDmnoAIafJwPi7IMfNx4Rx4IitAcDcTDwapWS-uNiIlzb2890iP3SmKZlYIb6dTm30K59r16Dm-Id7mCIkbph_CTdOsiPAzS70V39tePEnqZ7f/s1600/IMG_4794.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1181" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUV7n1w8zcT4SpH0_pIJ6p2eeBLJ9JGZoDmnoAIafJwPi7IMfNx4Rx4IitAcDcTDwapWS-uNiIlzb2890iP3SmKZlYIb6dTm30K59r16Dm-Id7mCIkbph_CTdOsiPAzS70V39tePEnqZ7f/s320/IMG_4794.JPG" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prize for the series win was a trophy that's <br />
basically the same size as my 16 month old.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Summer Series 1 mile<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
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In a serious departure from marathon life, the races for the week weren’t over. Two days later, I raced a mile as part of the <a href="https://runsignup.com/Race/VA/Richmond/SummerTrackSeries" target="_blank">Richmond Summer Track Series</a>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In the day leading up to it, I had to constantly remind myself why the heck I was racing a mile. 5Ks are enough out of my comfort zone, but a mile?? I haven’t raced on the track since high school, I don’t even know how to properly warm up for a track race. The truth was I hoped for a PR because my current mile PR (5:19) is from the last interval of a 3x1 mile workout before the 2016 Trials. Surely I could run faster in a race, having focused on shorter intervals (rather than tons of marathon miles), and if I was just running the one (and not three), right?? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Wrong. I went out in 80s (5:20 pace) and held that pace for two laps, but the third lap was too slow. My chest and lungs were starting to burn but I simultaneously realized I was still too comfortable for such a ridiculously short race. I tried to kick it in, feeling my last lap would be my fastest and maybe I could make up what I lost in the third lap, but it was another 80 and I finished in 5:23, exactly the same split as I ran in a 3x1 mile workout in April before <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">Pittsburgh</a>.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYb1aWc1F6-tQwnfJe_FejC3DM5iU1Ekf78AqFUY9EK2w1IGOHNfJB9s5-KaNY_tozCsq6OvxHv5XCzEXLJB93oUvfQ0L7kWpkzrsbttmyZcNtZ2NZkoRiDPzPHPtK5_OzqIVBnbFsSYB/s1600/20180718_185318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1238" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYb1aWc1F6-tQwnfJe_FejC3DM5iU1Ekf78AqFUY9EK2w1IGOHNfJB9s5-KaNY_tozCsq6OvxHv5XCzEXLJB93oUvfQ0L7kWpkzrsbttmyZcNtZ2NZkoRiDPzPHPtK5_OzqIVBnbFsSYB/s320/20180718_185318.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Racing on the track for the first time in too long.</td></tr>
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The reality is I’m just not in as good of shape as when peaking for a marathon; I’m still building my mileage and getting my legs back under me after Pittsburgh. A few weeks of 5K training has not gotten me in the same shape as months of marathon training. (Which also explains the ridiculous fact that my <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/04/race-report-2018-cherry-blossom.html" target="_blank">10-mile race pace from April</a> remains faster than what I’ve been running for 3.1 miles.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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But I also think it was silly to just race the mile once; I suspect (for me anyway) the shorter the race, the more practice it will take to get it right. (Or maybe it’s just that shorter races can be practiced more often.) If I ran another mile I think I could improve based on my experience and not letting myself get so comfortable in the middle. The 5K is the same: I’ve improved in time and strategy with each race. Hopefully on <a href="https://runsignup.com/Race/VA/Richmond/PonyPasture5K" target="_blank">the last one</a> I can get it right.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dream big, <o:p></o:p></div>
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Teal <o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-49594908645040188992018-07-13T10:12:00.000-04:002018-07-17T14:15:39.098-04:00Race Reports: Cul-de-sac 5K 1 and 2The <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/06/summer-of-speed.html" target="_blank">summer of speed</a> has kicked off with two 5K races, which I’m using as practice before aiming for a big PR at the end of the month.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<u>Cul-de-sac 5K #1</u><o:p></o:p></div>
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These races happen on July evenings in Virginia, so you know what you’re getting into when you sign up: it’s going to be hot. Still, the first one was even hotter than I expected: by 7 pm, the temperature had only dropped to 91<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">°</span>, with a real feel of 101<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">°</span>. I knew all time goals were out the window, but I did want to compete well; everyone would be dealing with the same conditions. No matter what, this would serve as a baseline for the rest and let me know where I needed to improve most.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But the heat was making me really nervous. The purpose of these 5Ks is to learn how to push myself, even when (especially when) I feel like it’s safer to hold back. To resist the urge to go into marathon savings mode, as if I have 10 or 20 miles left instead of 1 or 2. But could I fight that hard in the heat? The weather was helping me wuss out before we even started. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I hit the first mile in 6 minutes and second place. That seemed decent but I was immediately passed. And mile two was a mess; I tried to stay with it and continue to push when it got uncomfortable, but I was falling apart. My split for mile two floored me, 6:26. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Seriously?? </i>I tried to get back on it and when another girl passed me I didn’t immediately let her go. I remembered the <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/03/race-report-rnr-dc-half.html" target="_blank">DC Half</a>, when I stuck with a woman trying to pass me longer than I thought I could, and tried to channel that fight. I tried again to not give up because I had been caught, but to use it as a wake up call to get back on it. It worked for a little bit but eventually she gapped me. And another woman caught me too. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Geez, this is terrible. Why am I so bad at these?? Why I am running these?? </i>Mile 3: 6:22. <o:p></o:p></div>
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With just the 0.1 left, I finally found a way to push and managed to squeak back into fourth in 19:23 (6:14 pace). I think my exact words upon finishing were, “That super sucked.” I was at least glad to have a kick at the end, but <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/07/race-report-2014-firecracker-5k.html" target="_blank">as usual</a> disappointed that I don’t use that energy to push harder from farther out. Maybe that’s because it was freaking hot, but also I just never push hard enough. That’s what I’m supposed to be working on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blaming the heat for the slow time is easier, but it was hot for everyone and I didn’t compete well. Next time.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAG6KeJ01PApFMbj9XmXp_vW0_SXLzpxNirnku_QUWBeGG9KiNiUpSvJDokQisXqKw46jOC3lvakJbbDcacHU13DjGjbUBB7CZX581vLOxI9w3n2lFQNV5y3IJhfPhyphenhyphen6B21iLTKK5nqcFA/s1600/culdesac1.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAG6KeJ01PApFMbj9XmXp_vW0_SXLzpxNirnku_QUWBeGG9KiNiUpSvJDokQisXqKw46jOC3lvakJbbDcacHU13DjGjbUBB7CZX581vLOxI9w3n2lFQNV5y3IJhfPhyphenhyphen6B21iLTKK5nqcFA/s320/culdesac1.1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The final sprint for fourth.</td></tr>
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<u>Cul-de-sac 5K #2<o:p></o:p></u></div>
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Next time turned out to be about ten degrees cooler (a chilly 82<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">°</span>) and far less oppressive (a real feel of only 83<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">°</span>!). Once again I wanted to compete well, but this time I also had time goals. I figured 6:00 pace seemed doable, given the cooler temperatures, my knowledge of the course, and geez, hadn’t I run <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">faster</i> than that for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ten</i> miles <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/04/race-report-2018-cherry-blossom.html" target="_blank">three months ago</a>?? I mean, <i>c'mon</i>. My strategy was to hit the first mile in 6, same as last week, and then really focus on pushing the second mile to hit that one on pace too. I generally slip way behind in the second mile but thought if I could just hold this seemingly not too difficult pace for two miles, I could still find something in the last mile to kick it in. I wouldn’t get too far into a hole I couldn’t climb out of. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The race gets its name from three cul-de-sacs you run through in the first mile; three quick out and backs where you basically turn around a cone. I kept my eye on my watch (as I always do, often to my detriment) and it was hovering in the low 5:50s. I tried to relax a little and not get ahead of myself, but it still read sub-6 pace when I hit the mile in… 6:06. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What?!?</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Damn those out and backs for probably screwing up my watch. Damn me for relying so much on my watch.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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On to mile 2. I didn’t try to immediately make up those seconds but just tried to stay with it, to not let the woman who had gapped me slightly (when I was busy worrying about going out too fast) get any farther ahead, to try to hit two miles in as close to 12 flat as possible. But mile two was slower still, a 6:11. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And that’s when my strategy changed back to the old RunnerTeal strategy: screw up the first two miles and then push the last one when you finally realize, “Oh hey, there’s only one mile left!” With half a mile to go I tried to push harder still and rounding the final corner, I put on the same sprint as last week, finishing in 18:53 (6:05 pace) and second place. In the last mile I finally felt like I was doing what I was supposed to be doing, feeling the fatigue and still pushing, but it was still only a 6 flat. I didn’t make up any distance on the woman ahead, although she had been steadily pulling away in the second mile and I did stop the gap from growing.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0TTEeFd5LXTLZ6QeFw3r7k-S8cg0z35RPU2X4-f6gmEZWoc1OzdJ0dnDRJpsuTa6XhLcJrDhaZc7iloRsk0mfqRuIe3Wm1fMbBHU7qlxlihlic_O3_ZjI-LNsW5RPu5KXByugtMWt8xe/s1600/culdesac2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0TTEeFd5LXTLZ6QeFw3r7k-S8cg0z35RPU2X4-f6gmEZWoc1OzdJ0dnDRJpsuTa6XhLcJrDhaZc7iloRsk0mfqRuIe3Wm1fMbBHU7qlxlihlic_O3_ZjI-LNsW5RPu5KXByugtMWt8xe/s320/culdesac2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finishing the second race.</td></tr>
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My time was thirty seconds faster but considering the better conditions, my experience on the course, and that last week I was really only getting my feet wet (quite literally as my shoes were totally sweat drenched after that race) I thought I would do better than that. I did improve from fourth to second, but that’s only because two of the women who beat me last week didn’t come this week. And really, given my time goal for the season, it’s not enough of an improvement.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Afterward, a friend asked if my problem with 5Ks is that it takes me longer to get in the groove of it. I hadn’t really thought of it that way but remembering the last mile (which was harder but also felt better somehow) made me wonder if that is my problem. I’ve debated a longer warm up but never sure that’s a good idea on a hot day. I do strides but perhaps not enough. Somehow I need to find a way to conjure mile 3 Teal (or even <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BipiJ3Blvkd/?taken-by=runnerteal" target="_blank">mile 26 Teal</a>) earlier on. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One more “practice” 5K to go. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What’s your go to strategy for a 5K?<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
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Dream big, </div>
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Teal </div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-18224960651665524132018-06-29T10:37:00.001-04:002018-06-29T19:37:49.686-04:00Summer of SpeedSummertime means sports bra tan lines, sunlit morning and evening runs, an unimaginable amount of sweat… and <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/07/race-report-crystal-city-twilighter-5k.html" target="_blank">another</a> <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/07/race-report-5k-redeem-team.html" target="_blank">attempt</a> to improve at the 5K. <o:p></o:p><br />
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My <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/p/firsts-and-fastest-prs.html" target="_blank">5K PR</a> just does not stack up to my marathon time. Although I still think <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/02/calculating-accuracy-of-running.html" target="_blank">running calculators are not always accurate</a> and need to be taken with a grain of (sweat-encrusted) salt, it’s striking that plugging in my recent <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">Pittsburgh</a> time predicts a 5K over a minute faster than I’ve ever run. The women I compete against run 5Ks a minute or more faster than me, and as I aim to get more competitive, I need to address my weakness: the dang 5K. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One of my problems with the 5K is I don’t give it enough respect. I do one or two a year, at most, usually in the summer when I’m not totally committed and really just waiting for marathon season to start again. (I admit I’m pretty much doing that again, dedicating an 8-week mini-season before gearing up for a fall marathon.) My other issue is that the 5K is a different kind of pain than the marathon; while the marathon starts off comfortable and gradually becomes a slow burn that settles over you in an achy exhaustion, the 5K is holding your hand in the flame almost from the gun. It’s a fiery, I-want-to-throw-up feeling in your chest and stomach that you have to maintain even as your marathoner’s brain is yelling to pump the dang breaks. It always seems too far to keep up the pace. And yet... the 5K really isn’t <i>that </i>long, but I never seem to understand that until it’s over. I always give up slightly in the second mile then kick it in more than I thought I was capable of and <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/07/race-report-2014-firecracker-5k.html" target="_blank">end up mad I didn’t push harder earlier</a>. Doing well in the 5K means being comfortable being uncomfortable. I’m just so used to the feel of marathon pace, I can’t seem to deal with the shorter, sharper burn. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So I’m trying to work on getting comfortable with 5K uncomfortable-ness. I found a plan in an old <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Running Times</i> (<a href="https://nypost.com/2015/12/07/running-times-to-quit-competing-next-year/" target="_blank">RIP</a>) for marathoners dropping down to the 5K and have been doing the track workouts. They start with super short reps (200s!!) and short rest (30 seconds!) and build up to 1K repeats at 5K pace. I’ve been having fun with the changeup (I have no idea the last time I did 200s) and they haven’t been that hard yet, which is a good sign, since they are still so short. It’s comforting to see the progression and know I just have to hold that pace a little longer each time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0yW1X2mnJ3Uotzo1plNnHiwiIUZDwIhoZQDy3BTBS9roh78lG8d01LgiynfdGKHvIQJqpA2xJmUhYknZ4C1ixfhTBMiVBjpuTRiICjCcFn31HmvvJ5WWaqAY7rNpp92g7IbpA1aUFT2EQ/s1600/IMG_4091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1107" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0yW1X2mnJ3Uotzo1plNnHiwiIUZDwIhoZQDy3BTBS9roh78lG8d01LgiynfdGKHvIQJqpA2xJmUhYknZ4C1ixfhTBMiVBjpuTRiICjCcFn31HmvvJ5WWaqAY7rNpp92g7IbpA1aUFT2EQ/s400/IMG_4091.JPG" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Track workouts from Terrace Mahon. <br />
Move up to the next when you can hit or better the projected paces. </td></tr>
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As for getting used to the distance and pacing, I’m going to run a 5K for three Monday evenings in a row as part of <a href="https://runsignup.com/Race/VA/GlenAllen/Culdesac5KSeries" target="_blank">Richmond’s Cul-de-sac 5K series</a>. The times won’t be fast (it’s generally 100 degrees and humid), but I’m hoping I can improve each week, if only in giving a more even and fuller effort. And because Richmond is full of fun summer running events, I’m also going to race at the <a href="https://runsignup.com/Race/VA/Richmond/SummerTrackSeries" target="_blank">Summer Track Series</a>. I’m looking to do a mile and also taking on my husband in a Spouse Showdown* at 800m. (Because nothing says true love than trying to out sprint each other, right??) My only reasoning behind the track races is they seem super fun (I’m even less a miler than a 5Ker), but that’s reason enough. They certainly aren’t the focus of the season. (Or that’s what I’ll be telling myself when Husband destroys me in the 800.)</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUjb6zOJnAk0hZ6Yc6WKU3mY7RFU9ng__EknaeHQBv4jnxkvJFUFtWJy9GzO64aUyTR2QiEhk8DZSsnwUY9Jw6f2vhITAIO6vWeSze2zHSm7Td8njt5RaTJSwM-OBZDVaaMYPJM7YewrN/s1600/IMG_4465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1587" data-original-width="1600" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUjb6zOJnAk0hZ6Yc6WKU3mY7RFU9ng__EknaeHQBv4jnxkvJFUFtWJy9GzO64aUyTR2QiEhk8DZSsnwUY9Jw6f2vhITAIO6vWeSze2zHSm7Td8njt5RaTJSwM-OBZDVaaMYPJM7YewrN/s320/IMG_4465.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The summer of speed begins.</td></tr>
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The focus and serious PR attempt will be at the <a href="https://runsignup.com/Race/VA/Richmond/PonyPasture5K" target="_blank">Pony Pastures 5K</a> at the end of July. It’s a flat, fast course and a morning race so hopefully it won’t be too blazing hot. And even though “it’s just a dinky 5K” (my words, which I’ve spoken at least ten times when describing this race) I’m putting it on the calendar early and trying to start giving it the respect it deserves (i.e. not calling it "just a dinky" 5K). Hopefully this year’s attempt at a summer of speed will pay off with a big PR, and if not, it will still be a fun changeup.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Summer of Speed Schedule<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
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Cul-de-sac 5Ks – July 2, 9, and 16<o:p></o:p></div>
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Track mile – July 18<o:p></o:p></div>
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Pony Pasture 5K – July 28<o:p></o:p></div>
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Spouse Showdown* (800m) – Aug 1 <o:p></o:p></div>
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*The Spouse Showdown is our own creation; everyone else is just racing an 800m and not risking their marriages over a track race.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dream big, <o:p></o:p></div>
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Teal <o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-18205448882990603952018-06-15T14:43:00.001-04:002018-06-15T14:46:13.409-04:00No Buildup's Perfect<b><i>“Erase from your mind that your preparation must be perfect. Hard work plus dedication equals a shot at your dreams.” – Kara Goucher </i></b><o:p></o:p><br />
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In March, a day after my failed attempt at 16 miles at sub-2:45 pace, Brother asked why I was wallowing over the workout. He laughed, “Marathon pace workouts?! Those things are so freaking tough; no one hits those dead on.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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I snapped back, “But I did! <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">Before CIM</a>! That’s how I knew I could run the Trials standard.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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And so <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/03/readjusting.html" target="_blank">I kept wallowing</a>. I wasn’t sure I could run 2:45 pace in a race if I didn’t in practice. So I attempted the workout again. And failed again. And yet… on race day <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">I did run sub-2:45</a>. Because marathon pace workouts are so freaking tough, and it’s rare to hit them dead on.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just because I didn't run well on this one day... </td></tr>
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I feel like I’ve done you all a bit of a disservice. Here on the blog and in interviews I rattle on an on about the one workout that helped me get to the Olympic Trials the first time, to the point that people have reached out to me to ask more about it. (Which is awesome! I always love hearing from you guys!) The gist of the workout: a long run of 18-22 miles with 12-16 miles in the middle at goal race pace. (I peak at 16 pace miles after building up to it <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2015/01/the-evolution-of-242.html" target="_blank">over the years</a> and over the course of <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/03/readjusting.html" target="_blank">each season</a>.) I’ve always said that if you nail this workout, you are ready to nail the marathon. It’s a hard grind that you’ll likely do alone, in the middle of a high mileage week. If you can nail it then, you’ll be ready on race day when you’re tapered and high on adrenaline.</div>
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But what happens if you don’t nail the workout? Is the inverse true? Does failing at this one workout mean you’ll fail at the marathon?<o:p></o:p></div>
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No, because it’s only one workout. Every season is an accumulation of workouts, long slogs, hard tempos, intervals, easy days, strides, core, strength, eating right, sleeping enough. No build up is perfect. It’s too long, life is too messy, the weather is too uncontrollable. Every season has its share of bad days. The trick is to focus on the things that go well and forget the rest. (“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sTJ7AzBIJoI" target="_blank">Remember the compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how</a>.”)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Before Pittsburgh, those failed attempts weighed on me. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How could I be confident enough to go for a Trials qualifier when I didn’t run my tried-and-true confidence booster?</i> But I was giving that workout too much power; just because I made it to the Trials by one route before, didn’t mean I had to take exactly the same route this time. I looked back over the rest of my workouts and everything else—tempo runs, track workouts, tune-up races—was on par with that magical CIM season. I was in similar shape overall. All that work didn’t disappear because of a couple of bad days. So I put my faith in the total, in the accumulation of miles, rather than in one or two big workouts. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And honestly, I wasn’t wildly off. I’ve had some seasons where I’ve tried to force things when I didn’t have too much evidence to go off, with <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2015/06/not-with-bang-but-whimper.html" target="_blank">disastrous consequences</a>. (If there are more bad days and than good days, it’s probably time to reevaluate your goals or give your body a break before <i>it </i>breaks.) But I did run pretty close to my goal (four seconds per mile slow the first time, six seconds the second time), even if it took some convincing for me to see that. I whined and moaned at the time that it wasn’t close enough; it wasn’t perfect. But I wasn’t that far off. I looked back at <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2015/01/the-evolution-of-242.html" target="_blank">my past marathons</a> (other than CIM) and realized I often ran about five seconds per mile faster on race day than in a workout. Hoping to run a little faster on race day wasn’t being totally unrealistic.<o:p></o:p></div>
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(I still think marathon pace workouts are the most important workouts of marathon training; they are the most similar to the marathon physiologically and psychologically. They deserve to be given top priority and hard effort. But if the effort is there and the pace is a few seconds slow, it’s not the end of the world. They aren’t the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">only</i> workout.)<o:p></o:p><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... it doesn't mean I can't run well on this one.</td></tr>
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The thing about nailing the most important workout is it’s an easy confidence boost; if you run a long effort at race pace, you’re ready. It’s harder to see that you might still be ready, even if you don’t quite hit it exactly. It takes confidence and knowing your body and the kind of shape you’re in, based on the total season. That can be tough. Experience and looking back on old training logs can help, as can coaches and outside perspectives. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course, you need to have an accumulation of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">something</i>; you can’t run well on optimism and hopes alone. I know I also blab on about dreaming big and believing in yourself, but obviously you have to do the work too. Dreaming big gets you out of bed in the morning to do the work (and maybe also into bed early to get that crucial sleep!) Believing keeps you in the game when doing the work/running the race gets really freaking hard. But behind it all is a base of hard work. Of grinding, of sweat in your eyes, sun beating down, muscles aching to quit, stomach urging to rebel, of hard freaking work. Dreaming and believing won’t get you anywhere without those really tough workouts.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But that doesn’t mean they all have to go perfectly. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Dream big,<br />
TealTealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-77821001992463071162018-06-01T09:40:00.000-04:002018-06-01T15:56:49.905-04:00One Year of NursingAlmost exactly <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/05/a-new-starting-line.html" target="_blank">a year ago</a>, I was returning to running after having a baby. My body felt stiff and foreign, but more than anything else, my boobs hurt. Last week, I found myself in a similar spot: my body stiff from <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">a marathon</a> and time off, with my boobs crying the loudest. This time around, instead of my body learning how to run and feed Baby, it was learning how to cope as I<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> stopped</i> feeding Baby. <o:p></o:p><br />
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When I had Baby, I set a goal of breastfeeding her for one year. I wasn’t sure that would be possible, especially in the early days, and I didn’t know what to expect as I added running and racing to the mix. Below is a summary of how that year went for me, but I’m curious to hear how other mamas dealt, so feel free to share your experience in the comments! (Also please know that I am a stay-at-home mom who works from home part time. I’m sure I would have stopped nursing earlier if I had to pump at work and am uber-impressed with all you Mamas who deal with that!) <o:p></o:p></div>
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But before I get into everything about nursing, let me start by saying more generally to Mamas everywhere: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">cut yourself some slack and be happy with whatever path you’ve chose</b>n, not just regarding breastfeeding, but running too. I know Moms who are crushing marathons/Boston qualifiers/Trials standards who didn’t run much when their babies were small, and Moms crushing it with babies in diapers. If racing and trying to run fast makes you feel more overwhelmed, by all means take it easy. If it makes you feel more like yourself and gives you a break, then go for it. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Don’t let other people and the path they take make you feel any less proud of your own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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And in that vein, don’t feel pressure to breastfeed if it’s not for you. Don’t feel pressure to run while breastfeeding if it’s not for you. For whatever (often unknown) reason, some babies are super demanding and fussy, some boobs struggle to produce enough, some bodies are injury prone. Do what you can but don’t drive yourself crazy forcing anything, breastfeeding-wise or running-wise. If you do choose to breastfeed and run, know that the combination puts a lot of demands on your body. Take care of you and your baby first; running takes a backseat. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<u>The first few days of Baby: <o:p></o:p></u></div>
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Breastfeeding-wise, these days were a nightmare. I dreaded having to feed my daughter and the lactation consultants at the hospital made me feel worse, not better. But the more sympathetic nurses helped by recognizing how hard it was, reminding me I was doing a good job just for trying, and not judging if I wanted to stop. For the first week or two I opted to rotate between pumping* and breastfeeding; pumping was less painful and gave my boobs a bit of a break from Baby, who was also struggling to figure out how the heck to do this. (This has nothing to do with running, but it’s a reminder to not feel bad if it’s a struggle; it is for nearly everyone! Also: try not to think about how long you want to keep it up, just <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/03/one-year-of-baby.html" target="_blank">take it one day at a time</a>.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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*To feed a newborn pumped milk, you may need to syringe feed her, which a lactation consultant can give you the supplies for. No one mentions this beforehand, but it is totally an option.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The undisputed best part of nursing is the closeness. <br />
Now I just have to settle for these incredibly rare moments. </td></tr>
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The first few months:<o:p></o:p></u></div>
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When I <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/05/a-new-starting-line.html" target="_blank">started running again</a>, I quickly learned to splurge for better sports bras (i.e. not the Target ones I’ve had for five years). I was also careful to time my runs around Baby’s feeding schedule: I would nurse her right before I left and be home before she needed more. At that point she was going about two hours between feedings and I was not running anywhere near that long, so it wasn’t an issue so long as I planned it out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<u>Starting to train again, 4-9 months postpartum:<o:p></o:p></u></div>
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I started pumping in the morning before my run, so she’d have milk when she woke up (and I could get out the door earlier to fit in more miles). Pumping also enabled me to totally relieve myself; Baby had a tendency to only drink from one side first thing in the morning, leaving me uncomfortably lopsided. If I noticed I pumped a little less one morning, I would be sure to eat more that day, but it was never really an issue. I also periodically checked I was still producing enough by self expressing a tiny bit after Baby finished nursing, reassuring myself there was more there if she had wanted it. (This was really just to ease my always-worried mind: Baby was a healthy weight and seemed happy and satisfied.) At six months, we introduced solid foods (and by “solid” I mean <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BZoa5whn5eH/?taken-by=runnerteal" target="_blank">pureed mush</a>) so even though I was still nursing she was no longer relying on me 100 percent.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The biggest breastfeeding-related issue I faced was that <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/07/abs-of-mush-and-more-doctors.html" target="_blank">my diastasis recti</a> wouldn’t heal until I stopped nursing. While nursing, your body produces hormones, like relaxin, that keep ligaments loose, making it hard for the abdominal muscles to come back together properly. This meant I had to be a little more cautious about my running and I couldn’t do all the strength and supplemental work I’d normally do, but it also served as a reminder that (a) for me, nursing my daughter was more important than running, and (b) some things just take time and <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/03/one-year-of-baby.html" target="_blank">I can’t force anything</a>. The only other issue I had was that I was thirstier on runs, but that was an easy fix: I just carried a bottle more often. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I purposely choose a logistically easy marathon for <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/11/race-report-richmond-marathon.html" target="_blank">my first</a> (the Richmond Marathon, where I live), so I could pump before I left the house, have a short drive to the start, and then pretty easily find my family after. I ended up not nursing Baby until we were back at home, which was longer than I had planned but Baby and I were both fine. (She had a bottle and a snack while I was running.) Of course, major marathons—and all the waiting around at the start—would make this more complicated), so that’s something to keep in mind when racing and nursing (although Boston does allow you to have a pump at the start).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Transitioning to solid food... and the inevitable mess.</td></tr>
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Training for an OTQ, 10-14 months postpartum:<o:p></o:p></u></div>
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Breastfeeding for a year would have meant stopping in mid-March. I went in to the spring season with a flexible attitude: if breastfeeding seemed not to be causing any issues, maybe I’d keep going through the marathon and not have to worry about how my body might react to weaning. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And that’s what happened: in the buildup to Pittsburgh, I honestly didn’t really feel affected by breastfeeding. My abs started to close (probably because Baby was getting more calories from solid foods) and I started to hit times and mileage that were in the realm of pre-Baby. I wasn’t sure whether weaning would throw my body for a loop: would the drop in hormones make me crazy cranky, gain a bunch of weight, or feel totally off? Things seemed to be going pretty well, so rather than fix something that wasn’t broken, I decided to keep breastfeeding through race day. (Although I did start to slowly cut back starting around her first birthday; by the time of the marathon I was down to two sessions: pumping before a morning run and nursing her at bedtime. I noticed I was pumping less as I cut out the other sessions, but she still had plenty.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<u>The final days:<o:p></o:p></u></div>
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A day after Pittsburgh I cut out the morning pumping session with no obvious effects. Two weeks later I stopped nursing at bedtime. And 36 hours after that, I was so glad I had waited until the marathon was over. I was a mess. Baby was cranky from a cold, but I seemed particularly drained dealing with her crankiness. (The week I cut from three sessions to two was also a rough one. Again, I’m not sure if Baby was just being particularly difficult, but I felt crankier and more overwhelmed than usual.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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But more than my moodiness was something I hadn’t considered: my boobs were incredibly painful. I hadn’t really had any issue weaning to that point—maybe I felt a little full but nothing too bad—and I had clearly been producing less so I naively thought it would just taper off and that would be that. Not so. From about 36 hours to 4-5 days after I stopped I was painfully full; my chest was so sore I couldn’t lift my arms above my head and when I’d pick up Baby, she’d hug me and leave me wincing. (It’s a sad day when your baby’s hugs hurt!) This corresponded to when <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BjCmlRUlVc6/?taken-by=runnerteal" target="_blank">I started running again</a> and I was happy to only go a few short miles, because while the post-marathon tightness eased after a mile or two, the boob pain did not. I’m glad I wasn’t trying to train hard or race during this period. (Not that it would have been impossible, but very uncomfortable. I’d recommend timing weaning for a down week if you can.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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So in the end, I’m happy with how I timed everything: I was able to run two marathons while breastfeeding and hit a big time goal in the latter. My paranoia about the added injury risk (the hormones that kept my abs apart can also cause joint trouble) made me more cautious then I have been in the past, making me take a few days off here and there, especially in the lead up to Richmond. But before Pittsburgh, I felt healthier than ever. (Even before CIM, where I set my <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/p/firsts-and-fastest-prs.html" target="_blank">current PR</a>, I was dealing with a cranky butt muscle.) I can’t attribute it to breastfeeding exactly, but I do think that taking care of Baby and having her rely on me made me take care of myself better. I was more conscious about eating well, I took a prenatal vitamin daily (it’s recommended to continue those while nursing), and I was <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/04/the-little-extras.html" target="_blank">extra diligent about sleep</a>, given everything that I was asking of my body.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Some say breastfeeding slows you down; maybe I would have run faster this spring if I had stopped earlier, but I’ll never know, nor do I really care. (I'm obviously not complaining about <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/05/race-report-pittsburgh-marathon.html" target="_blank">how the season turned out</a>!) I’m just glad to have hit another goal, one that seemed incredibly ambitious in the early days.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dream big, </div>
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Teal </div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-77794707485667166472018-05-11T15:25:00.001-04:002018-05-12T09:45:10.143-04:00Race Report: Pittsburgh MarathonIn the final days and weeks before the Pittsburgh Marathon, the familiar doubts returned. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Was I really ready to run an Olympic Trials Qualifier?? </i>The big three worries were:<o:p></o:p><br />
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1. The hills. I obviously knew about Pittsburgh’s hills all along and trained for them as best I could. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Was it enough???</i>) I tensed every time someone mentioned them, especially when a few days before the race Gwen Jorgensen (Olympic gold medalist in the triathlon, now committed to the marathon) <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BiXgpe7A6T4/?taken-by=gwenjorgensen" target="_blank">mentioned</a> how hilly the half marathon course was (which was serving as the US Championships and shared the first 11 miles with the marathon). I considered those first miles to be flat and the hill she mentioned around mile 10 didn't even register on my map. Gwen’s sentiment rekindled my fear of the hills and made me more then a little worried I was being naïve.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9zVo9OlNr1z5GteNSlEAXc-dNmfMyex81Uh_TIZFSB-uM_Z4lbYDPvzWl7bOsTeGFcGjOQGPF6JPBFtDMq2ZWcfV-dJX_INoizOebZWjOqoaMZJQrD1UsZI9onD8bPfPWjneEKl1yT2B/s1600/pitt+elevation.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="138" data-original-width="535" height="102" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9zVo9OlNr1z5GteNSlEAXc-dNmfMyex81Uh_TIZFSB-uM_Z4lbYDPvzWl7bOsTeGFcGjOQGPF6JPBFtDMq2ZWcfV-dJX_INoizOebZWjOqoaMZJQrD1UsZI9onD8bPfPWjneEKl1yT2B/s400/pitt+elevation.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pittsburgh Marathon elevation. <br />
The half marathon splits around mile 11 (before the giant hill).</td></tr>
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2. My fitness. I <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/03/readjusting.html" target="_blank">struggled</a> in crucial marathon pace workouts: could I really run faster <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> farther than I had in practice?<o:p></o:p></div>
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3. My toughness. I worried that I wouldn’t be <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/11/ready-or-not.html" target="_blank">tough enough</a> to push as hard as I’d need to in the end. Ever since Baby, I’ve missed my A goals by <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/04/race-report-2018-cherry-blossom.html" target="_blank">ten</a>, <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2017/11/race-report-richmond-marathon.html" target="_blank">twenty</a>, <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/03/race-report-rnr-dc-half.html" target="_blank">thirty</a> seconds. I feared I’d give up on myself (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hadn’t I given up during those major workouts?</i>) and that I’d miss it by a hair. I wondered if I lost the grittiness essential to achieving this ambitious of a goal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the two or three weeks before the race I tried to really hammer the only thing left to hammer: my positivity. I came up with arguments against all those points: I had trained on hills, I had conquered harder ones (I hoped??) in <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/04/race-report-charlottesville-marathon.html" target="_blank">Charlottesville</a>. If I ignored the marathon pace workouts, almost all my other workouts and races pointed to being in similar shape to pre-CIM, where <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">I qualified</a> for the 2016 Trials. And I used to (way back in 2012 and earlier) run faster in races than for marathon pace workouts, even at crazy hilly Charlottesville. Over and over I told myself that I<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> am</i> tough and that when I put these big goals out there, I don’t back down easily. I thought about when I said I’d run sub-3 and <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/09/blast-from-past-race-report-boston-2011.html" target="_blank">did</a>. And when I said I’d qualify for 2016 and <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">did</a>. Sure, I had plenty of examples of goals I set that I did not make, but I was telling myself those were the less important ones. The ones I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> cared about, I didn’t give up on.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And I reminded myself that I was lucky to be going for this at all. I had originally wanted to run Boston but didn’t have a qualifying time at registration time and wasn’t accepted as an elite. (Which made perfect sense once I saw the depth of the women’s elite field this year!) When Boston turned out to be totally awful miserable weather, I was glad I wasn’t there. I had felt called to Pittsburgh and knew this was God’s plan for me. I was healthy and the weather seemed mostly okay. I had an incredible opportunity that I did not want to waste.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As I kept reminding myself these things and reading over my cache of motivational quotes, I was amazed to realize the positivity thing was working. I really started to believe. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m going to do it. I’m going to qualify.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Until Saturday, the day before the race, when everything came crashing down. We had arrived in Pittsburgh the day before and that night Baby had gotten sick. She woke up every hour coughing and sniffling and struggling to go back to sleep. By morning, everyone was tired and cranky and desperate for another shot at rest during nap time. But Baby refused to sleep in the hotel room, so we packed her in the car and drove the course while she slept and I tried to tell myself the hills weren’t so bad. I started worrying I would wake up sick too (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I feel a little funny… am I congested? I think I have a sinus headache coming on…</i>), but even more than that I worried this weekend was turning into a disaster. Poor Husband was taking the responsibility for sick Baby, no one was sleeping, we’d driven hours to get here (as had my Dad), and it was likely going to rain on race day, which seemed like a suckier situation for the spectators than me. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I have to do well or this whole weekend will be a horrible memory. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Race morning I woke up sick-to-my-stomach nervous, like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Am I always this nervous???</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was just a race, but it represented months of work, months of sacrifices by people other than me. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I have to do this for my family, all my supporters who believe in me. I can’t let them down.</i> Baby was still struggling so no one had slept again, but I reminded myself that I never sleep the night before a marathon. I only ate two thirds of my breakfast I was so nervous, which I don’t think has ever happened before. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Once I got to the elite athlete area I sort of calmed down. I wasn’t thinking too much ahead, just going through the motions of what I needed to do (i.e. go pee nine thousand times). The superstars warming up for the US Half Marathon Championships distracted me a bit.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> At least I don’t have to compete against them. </i>I did have to run twice as far up far larger hills, but whatever.<o:p></o:p></div>
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THE RACE<br />
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My plan was to run the first half around 6:15 pace. To nab a qualifier, I needed to run under 2:45, or 6:17 pace. I don’t typically/ever recommend going out fast in a marathon or trying to bank time, but because of the nature of the course (a flat first half and a hilly second one) I figured to have any shot I needed to at least be on pace or slightly ahead for the flat section. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Despite my typical strategy of constantly obsessing about over/under (<i>T</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hat mile was 3 seconds fast, the one before that was 2 seconds slow, so now I’m 1 second under</i>) I tried my best not to freak out about a second here or there. The first mile was 6:12: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A little fast, but that’s okay. Just relax into it.</i> The next was 6:16: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Okay, right on. </i>The next few miles were a hair under 6:15 and I tried not to scrutinize every second and just kept telling myself I was running exactly according to plan.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Another pre-race fear was that I wouldn’t be able to do it alone; when I qualified at <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">CIM</a> I had a pacer and a big group to stick with, a crucial advantage I wasn’t sure I could qualify without. I hoped there would be some women at Pittsburgh with the same goal and we could work together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About 2 miles in, I found myself beside Devon Yanko, who I remembered from the pack at CIM. (Back then she had talked with the pacer about how she owned a bakery and, being obsessed with baked goods myself, I couldn’t help but remember that fact.) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe she’s going for the same goal today.</i> When I asked, she said yes but with a noncommittal “we’ll see” shrug to it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She’s just being humble.</i> (She’s seriously an <a href="https://www.oiselle.com/athletes/devon-yanko" target="_blank">ultra-running badass</a>.) “Great,” I said. “Let’s try to work together.”<o:p></o:p><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoAOfxMel9Pugrv3t8T90-Yhys2j4GgtRl2sNCjVF9WonQbEFjV6WkJ8xdMaO3W0TPe4YedSbQLBx-AL825zrGmNzufk86uSp_hhwKDw8-oFDSXmEJZqKflWqWFP0JGZV5k2Mr3PcFRBQc/s1600/824556_1006_0040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1064" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoAOfxMel9Pugrv3t8T90-Yhys2j4GgtRl2sNCjVF9WonQbEFjV6WkJ8xdMaO3W0TPe4YedSbQLBx-AL825zrGmNzufk86uSp_hhwKDw8-oFDSXmEJZqKflWqWFP0JGZV5k2Mr3PcFRBQc/s320/824556_1006_0040.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Devon Yanko, around mile 6.</td></tr>
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We ran the next couple of miles side by side and I was glad to have someone to run with. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe I won’t have to run this whole race by myself!</i> Around mile 6, we caught up to another woman and I told her to jump in with us: “We can work together!” I was trying to be nice/desperate for company on this mission, but I’m not sure it came off the way. I wasn’t sure if she happily said, “Good, thanks!” or angrily said, “I’m good, thanks.” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe I pissed her off by implying she was in need of help?</i> I self-consciously debated this as we crested a bridge, but she tucked in with us whether I annoyed her or not. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I knew we were slowing as we went up the bridge; it was a hill after all, but considering what we had coming, it was a minor one. I reminded myself how great it would be to have company to work with, but when I saw the split (6:25) and thought again how that hill was barely a blip, I couldn’t help but pick up the pace. Suddenly I was alone. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh man it’s going to be embarrassing if they catch me later.</i> (“Now how about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you </i>jump in, you idiot who went out too fast.”) But I trusted sticking to my race plan was my best shot, so it was back to going for 6:15s, alone or not. <o:p></o:p></div>
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At mile 8, I got to see Husband and Baby cheering. It was another reminder of all they do for me and how much I wanted to succeed and celebrate with them. So far, things were going well. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m doing fine. I’m executing my plan. Just stay relaxed and calm and get to the hill.</i> I was running with a couple men and hoped they were running the full so we could work together for a while. But when we split from the half marathoners around mile 11 only one guy was left. I lost even him soon after. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=love+actually+alone+again+naturally&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjfv7y5kvvaAhWKzlkKHcCoC14QsAQINA&biw=1239&bih=573#imgrc=VV0RJMn_bpfiEM:" target="_blank">Alone again, naturally</a></i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As I crossed the next bridge, I noticed the woman up ahead looked a lot like Clara Santucci, who had won the race in 2014 and 2015 in the low 2:30s. Pre-race press mentioned her as going for the win. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Am I really right behind Clara Santucci?! </i>I debated this for a while—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">maybe it’s someone else, was she wearing white when I saw her at the start?</i>—and soon enough we were over the river and heading up the big hill. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When driving the course the day before, I realized the hills weren’t so much steep monsters as long, slow slogs. They weren’t the kind of hills where you’re huffing and puffing and nearly puking at the top, but just where you’re slowing and it’s hard and, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">man, it sure would be nice if it were flat again</i>. I expected to lose thirty seconds or so, but hoped to put a metaphorical pin in it, just try to run 6:17s, and not worry about the thirty seconds until after mile 20. The course doesn’t go back down that hill until mile 23, so it was important to not freak out about being over pace, but just settle back in and trust the time would be made up later. I didn’t want to stress myself out or overanalyze my pace too early. At mile 20 I’d give myself permission to start pushing. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wait until mile 20: that’s when the race will really start.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xUhep_IAI-3fYMRgwvZ6OwKfVMNF73YmTyKrikEwZ8qSMB23nJW1i9rUmUyIo0sCm0YIJQsoE3Mm1ODbOytB-8_q2oY9IDmQTxN4KeVzO-lQtucj36z03zTLtoQAxxPCZ89RoFUFxk9L/s1600/824586_1003_0010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1064" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xUhep_IAI-3fYMRgwvZ6OwKfVMNF73YmTyKrikEwZ8qSMB23nJW1i9rUmUyIo0sCm0YIJQsoE3Mm1ODbOytB-8_q2oY9IDmQTxN4KeVzO-lQtucj36z03zTLtoQAxxPCZ89RoFUFxk9L/s320/824586_1003_0010.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The top of the hill, mile 13.</td></tr>
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My split for the hill mile was actually only twenty seconds slow—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Woo hoo! Better than expected!</i>—and at the half I was a hair under 2:45 pace. I had been certain I would already be over at this point, so I was feeling good<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. Just maintain. Take it one mile at a time and don’t freak out over a too slow split. It rolls in this section, but every up you get back. </i>Mile 14 was slow, but—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">told you!</i>—mile 15 was fast. 16 slow, 17 fast. Around mile 15 I passed Clara—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what?! She must be coming back from something</i>. (Something I apparently tell myself <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2018/04/race-report-2018-cherry-blossom.html" target="_blank">pretty often</a> and which is often apparently <a href="http://www.thepittsburghmarathon.com/Blog-Item-Two-Time-Champion-Clara-Santucci-Makes-Her-Triumphant-Return" target="_blank">also true</a>.)<o:p></o:p><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifvGQ0JAVIyGzKFPF8pAR8i4GmuZfUny4fvtwLGcPLtAwxKTxcd539JjakIj6nRY9pu9-u8IS6TOZpJYitcWqkQ-536aJjwLkOZGp_AVC8WZGcgtXEH7tRsdFNXbEN43wIVHW8dyjcoGgI/s1600/pitt+mile+14.2+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="612" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifvGQ0JAVIyGzKFPF8pAR8i4GmuZfUny4fvtwLGcPLtAwxKTxcd539JjakIj6nRY9pu9-u8IS6TOZpJYitcWqkQ-536aJjwLkOZGp_AVC8WZGcgtXEH7tRsdFNXbEN43wIVHW8dyjcoGgI/s320/pitt+mile+14.2+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to catch Clara (white shirt). Mile 14.</td></tr>
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Somewhere in mile 18 the pace on my watch was hovering in the 6:40s and I was telling myself it must be wrong: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the buildings are throwing off the signal</i>. Except we weren’t anywhere near downtown and there weren’t any tall buildings. There was a woman up ahead that I had been chasing since about mile 16. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She’s not pulling ahead any more so I must not be slowing that badly</i>… <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh but that guy did just blow by me, maybe I </i>am <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">slowing. </i>I reminded myself that the pace often slows in these miles not because you can’t maintain it but because you lose focus. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Focus. Get to 20 miles in one piece, then it’s game time.<o:p></o:p></i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKAtavNHn6tjQ_iSI1gISVPx906y68tgvRwuEmF_HcoUOlLDOtmTzOnn35j14GCzaryuSGvZD5U_AmSraYh5r8bwCocNgm7PCReLQ0ID5LI5fmNcXQGmPM6xC7Hd7dZHPyBGawt3OCtYhQ/s1600/824587_1005_0040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1064" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKAtavNHn6tjQ_iSI1gISVPx906y68tgvRwuEmF_HcoUOlLDOtmTzOnn35j14GCzaryuSGvZD5U_AmSraYh5r8bwCocNgm7PCReLQ0ID5LI5fmNcXQGmPM6xC7Hd7dZHPyBGawt3OCtYhQ/s320/824587_1005_0040.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Focused on one mile at a time.</td></tr>
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Mile 18 was still a little slow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So was 19. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Just get to mile 20.</i> I passed two women in the twentieth mile, but it was another uphill slog. I had memorized the splits I needed to hit for miles 20 and 25; they would serve as my checkpoints. All I cared about was getting to the clock and seeing where I was.<br />
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Mile 20, 2:06:21: exactly thirty seconds over<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. Okay, this is what I prepared for. This is what I knew would happen. I need to average 6:10s from here to the finish and I’ve got it. The downhill is still coming, that will help.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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What also helped, though I had no idea at the time, was that I was so busy looking at the clock on the course that I didn’t check my watch split. Mile 20 was a 6:40, the slowest of the day. When I run an unexpectedly slow mile in training, it often derails me. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh my gosh, I can’t do this, I’m falling apart! </i>And then, inevitably, I do fall apart. Because as soon as you accept that you’re slowing, falling apart, failing, it just snowballs. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Fortunately (thank you, God!) I had no idea how slow that mile was. I wrongly thought I lost a few seconds here or there between halfway and 20 miles and it added up to thirty seconds, not that I was slowing more and more with each mile. Blissfully ignorant of my unraveling, I refocused on my goal for the next mile, and with the help of a downhill, hit it dead on: 6:10. I’m certain it would not have been that fast had I known my mile 20 split. (There’s an argument to be made here in favor of running by effort and not your watch, but I won’t make it because I am--admittedly--terrible at doing that and check my watch every other block. Maybe someday I’ll learn...) <o:p></o:p></div>
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The doubts were starting, but I was executing my plan. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Thirty seconds over at 20 miles is fine. Thirty seconds is doable. Still got the downhill to go</i>. I knew there was one more uphill before that crucial downhill but I couldn’t remember where it was. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Does the uphill end at mile 22?</i> I made it to the 22-mile marker (a 6:15 mile, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gotta push a bit more!</i>) and saw my Dad cheering wildly. I knew by his enthusiasm he understood how close I was. He also said I was in sixth place. That would win me some money, so I tried to use it as motivation. There were no women in sight and I had no idea if any were on my tail but I also wasn’t sure I entirely cared. I no longer worried about being embarrassed if someone caught me. I just wanted that sub-2:45.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfCDel0iwgiMC59ENH6FIc90wNVPfDlrGtFP-c-dPqYFeAPwP1v3CbfTYk4Gj711VFzdY0Ep1zwHllCPg2XF6yxjT7li7IsiUDAcbEHtU3uY4qhxWc8-AgkvWdJ2NfDE3dhJIjmtfSH_Ly/s1600/pitt+mile+22.4+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="313" data-original-width="469" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfCDel0iwgiMC59ENH6FIc90wNVPfDlrGtFP-c-dPqYFeAPwP1v3CbfTYk4Gj711VFzdY0Ep1zwHllCPg2XF6yxjT7li7IsiUDAcbEHtU3uY4qhxWc8-AgkvWdJ2NfDE3dhJIjmtfSH_Ly/s320/pitt+mile+22.4+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 22. Fighting my way towards the finish.</td></tr>
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The demons got louder. And the last uphill had not ended at the mile 22 marker. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">When does this hill end? Where is this stupid downhill? I’m not going to make it. I’m going to miss it by a hair</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No! Don’t tell yourself that. There’s more left, there’s more left. It’s better to push for thirty minutes then be disappointed for six months or whenever you get this chance again. When will you get this chance? You’re healthy and fit and not sick </i>(despite Baby’s best efforts)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> and the weather is good. </i>(The forecasted rain had never materialized.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But I can’t, I’m not going to do it. I’m going to miss it. I need to run 6:10s and I’m not. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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I was trying to cycle through my mantras to find one that would work but couldn’t. The devil on my shoulder was yelling that I wasn’t going to make it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Just accept it. You’ll miss it by a bit. You’ll have to find a way to recover and not act like it’s the end of the world. So the weekend will be a bust. Just get over it</i>. <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">Once again</a> I had written my goal (<2:45) on a bottle of champagne to have ready to pop when we got home. I had done it to prove to myself I truly believed I could run that time, but I had also just used an incredibly old bottle of cheap Andre, so: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">how much did you really believe in yourself? You didn’t even bother buying a nicer bottle. If you miss it, you can just throw that stupid bottle out. Who cares. </i>(When even champagne choices are fodder for negativity, it’s not a good sign.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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But even as I bargained with myself, trying to find a way to make missing my goal not seem so bad, the angel on my other shoulder was trying to prevent me from accepting it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s not over. It’s not over. There’s more there. Don’t give up. You can still make it. Believe, believe, believe. </i>I started praying, out loud. “C’mon, God. Help me do this.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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Mile 23: 6:17 pace. Another not-6:10. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then, the downhill. Oh sweet mother of God, the downhill. I was flying. Still praying that it was enough. I just let my legs do whatever they could. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Go as fast as you can, take every single second you can get. </i>Flying down the hill, the angel gained some ground in his arguments with the devil. The pace on my watch read under 6 minutes. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This is what I needed. Thank you, God. I can still do it.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Mile 24: 5:48 pace. (Certainly the fastest mile I’ve ever run in a marathon.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Okay, I made up the 30 seconds, I’m back on pace. </i>(I was actually 11 seconds <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">under</i>, but I didn’t know it.) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now I just need to run 6:17s for two miles and I’ve got it.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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But when the road flattened, the suffer fest resumed. The pace on my watch hovered in the mid to high 6:20s. And suddenly that stupid devil was back in the lead. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Well, you’re not going to make it. You have to accept it. You’re going to miss it by a couple seconds. You’ll have to find a way to get over it.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No, don’t give in. It’s not over yet. </i>The prayers became more frequent. “C’mon, God. Help me do this.” Over and over. “C’mon, God. Help.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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I knew I had more in me; I just couldn’t seem to tap it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yea, I’m tired, yea, my feet hurt, but this is it.</i> (“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Yhyp-_hX2s" target="_blank">If you had one shot, one opportunity, to seize everything you ever wanted…</a>”) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There’s more there, c’mon.</i> Still my pace was stuck in the 6:20s.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There was a fluid station around mile 24. At that point, I was (hopefully) going to finish this thing before any Gatorade would actually make its way to my muscles, but studies have shown that just swishing Gatorade in your mouth tricks your brain into thinking fuel is coming, so it lets you speed up. I grabbed a cup, squished some around and tried to spit it out. But my capabilities were so limited at that point the Gatorade instead just dribbled out of my mouth and down my front, like I was a baby who didn’t yet know how to eat or drink. I must have been some kind of sight: muttering prayers to myself as I foamed at the mouth.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“C’mon, God. Help.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I have to do this for Baby, for Husband, for all they’ve put up with this weekend, this whole season. I want to celebrate with them, not wallow. I HAVE to make it. </i>I was desperate to get to mile 25, the other split I had memorized to see where I was. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Mile 25, 2:37:19: Dead on. (Later analysis would show that mile 25 was 6:28, another split I’m glad I didn’t see.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh my God, I can still make it. It’s not over. One more mile, push push push.</i> I still felt like I had more but couldn’t tap it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">C’mon, do it for your family.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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“C’mon, God. Help. Help. Help.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The thing that’s always cited as the best evidence that it’s our brain slowing us down (not our muscles/heart/lungs) is the end sprint. If we slow down because we have absolutely nothing left, our muscles are spent, our fuel depleted, our body incapable of pushing any more, we wouldn’t be able to speed up no matter what happened. But when we get close enough, when we see the finish line, we find another gear. Which tells scientists that our fatigue is (mostly) in our mind. In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Endure</i>, Alex Hutchinson writes, “Science has confirmed what athletes have always believed: that there’s more in there—if you’re willing to believe it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I knew this and was reminding myself I had science on my side. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There’s more there. </i>But still, I was not speeding up. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh my God, I’m going to miss it. I have zero seconds to spare. C’mon God, give me something. Help me go faster.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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I don’t know at what point that prayer was answered, maybe when I finally could see the 26-mile marker, when my brain finally let up the emergency break. All of a sudden I was all-out sprinting. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I have to do this, I can make it. Sprint sprint sprint. <o:p></o:p></i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpzg66_iHAoM2MFEASXHB1INM3kAFQ4Ip8m9Y7sC_BG_pFWAknoGgrCNshdIL21MUXRkhs6axS59sapgkm8X5b5wZ1Lt3EAjHEED2ck8pbr0YwUqtoKz0Wg20lcAc0FAsNp6wyOzlQ5j5/s1600/824590_1053_0010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1064" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpzg66_iHAoM2MFEASXHB1INM3kAFQ4Ip8m9Y7sC_BG_pFWAknoGgrCNshdIL21MUXRkhs6axS59sapgkm8X5b5wZ1Lt3EAjHEED2ck8pbr0YwUqtoKz0Wg20lcAc0FAsNp6wyOzlQ5j5/s320/824590_1053_0010.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The end sprint.</td></tr>
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Husband was cheering wildly in this stretch and I knew from his voice he knew how close I was. He said later that he’d never seen me like that, never seen that kind of a sprint from me or that look in my eyes. “Desperation and I would even say fear,” he said. Uh yeah, I’d say fear too. I was scared out of my freaking mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">C’mon, everything you’ve got, for Husband, for Baby. This. Is. It.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNue21lczRIME6SGKea7osB9w-Un6_rcZyxxkd_tPZUkqwdnZ9YVBC3f1e3aOXVC_M7K3Bq8Xo_bQkkrRcOxxRW8ZsSU50nrHXQR_QBrvl4vgS8MQBnvpRg2HgHTYX3AJi_GQVBsGXMkDy/s1600/824590_1053_0017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1064" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNue21lczRIME6SGKea7osB9w-Un6_rcZyxxkd_tPZUkqwdnZ9YVBC3f1e3aOXVC_M7K3Bq8Xo_bQkkrRcOxxRW8ZsSU50nrHXQR_QBrvl4vgS8MQBnvpRg2HgHTYX3AJi_GQVBsGXMkDy/s320/824590_1053_0017.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scared out of my freaking mind.</td></tr>
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The turn for the finish comes just after the 26-mile marker and I could finally see the clock, but I couldn’t make out the numbers. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh God, please don’t say 2:45. Please say low 2:44. </i>Still sprinting, still praying. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Does it say 2:44:50 something?! Oh my God, I’m going to miss it. <o:p></o:p></i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIchOfkZuB2fxeU0IQeBwFlQqNYWLGvr1CBwW-MIqIrGbo0_2t0UYzmL6Am9wh0-o7G4PPZciLd4hcrbI_ykVKiQZWD9SFAQsFNFFyyVpTcf0NscJqa784OegAy6x89BmI_g2EPqPzPtoA/s1600/824559_1041_0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1064" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIchOfkZuB2fxeU0IQeBwFlQqNYWLGvr1CBwW-MIqIrGbo0_2t0UYzmL6Am9wh0-o7G4PPZciLd4hcrbI_ykVKiQZWD9SFAQsFNFFyyVpTcf0NscJqa784OegAy6x89BmI_g2EPqPzPtoA/s320/824559_1041_0001.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Willing the clock to have enough time left.</td></tr>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No, no! It says 2:44:20 something. Oh my God, I’m going to make it!</i><br />
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I did not let up until I was under the banner and the clock and then, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">OH THANK YOU GOD, we did it. <o:p></o:p></i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYreMzIs-so6Nveyi6VIcldKmPgnlgPiNQFZjLSiw8tSU-WLL4q1LXtUTmfmwRrWgS8qyZ0M4LTR-hqt6ZRODuQRK1nSBdDfnuRzbaRcv-wwiGOBf_Hc8_tBLtQ1ZGI2KaaBYWZ6H3duF/s1600/pitt+finish+rusty.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="652" data-original-width="841" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYreMzIs-so6Nveyi6VIcldKmPgnlgPiNQFZjLSiw8tSU-WLL4q1LXtUTmfmwRrWgS8qyZ0M4LTR-hqt6ZRODuQRK1nSBdDfnuRzbaRcv-wwiGOBf_Hc8_tBLtQ1ZGI2KaaBYWZ6H3duF/s320/pitt+finish+rusty.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank. You. God.<br />
(The clock on the right is for the half.)</td></tr>
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2:44:36. An Olympic Trials qualifier and sixth place.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I didn’t break down in tears like at CIM, because I was so gutted I could barely celebrate. By the time I got through the crowded finisher’s chute (the half was finishing too) and realized I had walked a few blocks past the elite tent, I felt so sick I had to sit down. I convinced a police officer to let me out of the barriers so I could sit on the curb but he in turn convinced me to go to the medical tent, which I accepted mostly so I could get a ride back towards the elite tent. I knew I was fine, just depleted, and the doctors confirmed that. I finally made it to the elite tent but I still could not wrap my mind around it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Did I really make it??</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Even days later, it doesn’t seem real. I knew it would be a dramatic fight to the finish and I would have to be relentless in those final miles. But for all my pre-race talk about <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BiE6o-BllbA/?taken-by=runnerteal" target="_blank">belief</a>, now that I've done it... I can’t quite believe it. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigAw_8dhHNgHYlDioDO1swBLGX4_S5gEIMB16R_UaanSIrTMP8ZRtwjxqiai2pd60OQVqilFjkzwmRF9URG5BX3Lrx4S6m1nO8uPQI_h8SIDOq1XzBc7q-UyoTeNIwEDID-kYKsR67HRFe/s1600/IMG_3767.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigAw_8dhHNgHYlDioDO1swBLGX4_S5gEIMB16R_UaanSIrTMP8ZRtwjxqiai2pd60OQVqilFjkzwmRF9URG5BX3Lrx4S6m1nO8uPQI_h8SIDOq1XzBc7q-UyoTeNIwEDID-kYKsR67HRFe/s320/IMG_3767.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Dream big, </div>
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Teal </div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2643275154489673929.post-5865430674890337432018-04-27T10:03:00.000-04:002018-04-27T10:04:55.381-04:00Taper Time To-DosWith fewer miles and shorter workouts, what are you going to do with all that extra time during the taper? A few suggestions:<o:p></o:p><br />
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<u>1. Rest</u><o:p></o:p></div>
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This is obviously the number one thing you’re supposed to be doing. Run less, rest more. Sleep in, go to bed earlier. Curl up with a good book (I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">highly </i>recommend Deena Kastor’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Let-Your-Mind-Run-Thinking/dp/1524760757" target="_blank">Let Your Mind Run</a>,</i> it helps a lot with #5, below) and—if at all possible—procrastinate any to-do items until after the marathon. Spring cleaning can wait until… never, right? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<u>2. Freak out about the weather</u><o:p></o:p></div>
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Just kidding, don’t do that. (Good luck <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/03/science-friday-increased-incidence-of.html" target="_blank">not doing that</a>.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<u>3. Plan any last minute details of race weekend</u><o:p></o:p></div>
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And by that I mean plan where you’re going to celebrate afterward. Around this time is when I start imagining all the junk I’m going to eat post-race, mostly of the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BBv9BbFyoB7/?taken-by=runnerteal" target="_blank">cupcake</a>/donut/<a href="https://twitter.com/runnerteal/status/541749252938932224" target="_blank">ice cream</a> variety. (If you have any suggestions of good Pittsburgh bakeries/ice cream shops/burger and beer places, let me know!)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<u>4. Visualize your race</u><o:p></o:p></div>
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Don’t just picture the cupcakes; also picture how you’re going to earn those cupcakes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2016/04/visualize-your-way-to-success.html" target="_blank">wrote about visualization</a> before and it’s a relatively simple way to get mentally prepared. Imagine running well of course, but don’t pretend everything will go smoothly. Know that <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">it may be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible</b>. I got an unexpected comfort from reading over an old race report. I remember the race going well, because <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2012/04/race-report-charlottesville-marathon_10.html" target="_blank">it ended well</a>, but I wrote that it was the hardest race I had ever run. I'd forgotten some of the struggle, but knowing I struggled and still succeeded was comforting. Recognize that in your visualizations. There will be moments of doubt and fear and wanting to drop out. Mentally practice moving through those moments. Feel yourself struggle and then see yourself pulling out of it and succeeding. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<u>5. Build the mental arsenal</u><o:p></o:p></div>
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Keep looking for things that will help you pull yourself out of those tough spots. I’ve spent the last week or so writing down every encouraging quote or thought I have. I plan to scroll through this arsenal race weekend with the hope that I can memorize the most powerful to rely on during the race. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One of the quotes that <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/Bh1zv4elJ7l/?taken-by=runnerteal" target="_blank">really hit me</a> was “<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The only thing standing between you and your goal is the BS story you keep telling yourself as to why you can’t achieve it</b>.” Every time I think about all the reasons I believe I can make my goal, the old stubborn demons try to pop in and tell me why I can’t. In the Believe I Am <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.believeiam.com/products/compete-training-journal" target="_blank">Compete Training Journal</a></i>, Lauren Fleshman writes about making a case for yourself. She suggests writing down all the negative chatter you tell yourself before a race and then coming up with an argument against each one (even if it’s an argument you only wish you could believe). Memorize the big ones and repeat them to yourself three times in a row every morning and night. (The repetition will help you believe, even in the shaky ones.) Deena Kastor suggested a similar strategy in the <a href="http://lindseyhein.com/20180411-8096/episode-112-deena-kastor-bonus/" target="_blank">I’ll Have Another</a> podcast: come up with three reasons why you’ll achieve your goal and remember them when the going gets tough.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I always sign these posts “Dream big” but in the days before a race, my mantra is different: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Believe</b>. Believe in God, believe in yourself, believe in the potential God has given you. Believe you’re capable of much more than you know. Believe in the training, in the miles and hard work accumulated. Believe in the taper, in the way your body is soaking up that rest. Believe that when it gets tough—seemingly impossible—you’ll find a way through and prove it wasn’t. Believe and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1k8craCGpgs" target="_blank">don’t stop</a>, because as soon as you stop the race is lost… but if you keep believing, who knows <a href="http://www.milestothetrials.com/2014/12/race-report-california-international.html" target="_blank">what will happen</a>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByqcDDUMwZl8m8oda5M_kPgPKxVYdO3UhBN4VL5h3ymmv4XqRcRYElmxxqS9M9UQN960R5mgpf761e0HIYwPpP_PL5Cbjy_YGU_5AnrLhbSG1X613ri-G07SkJcS1TeSK_mPxrWozbZak/s1600/IMG_3556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByqcDDUMwZl8m8oda5M_kPgPKxVYdO3UhBN4VL5h3ymmv4XqRcRYElmxxqS9M9UQN960R5mgpf761e0HIYwPpP_PL5Cbjy_YGU_5AnrLhbSG1X613ri-G07SkJcS1TeSK_mPxrWozbZak/s320/IMG_3556.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adding one extra piece to my race day attire.</td></tr>
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<i>(Note: There won’t be a post next Friday. I’ll be focusing on #1 on this list, but look for a race report in two weeks!)</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Dream big (and believe!), <o:p></o:p></div>
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Teal <o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Tealhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392909306599288907noreply@blogger.com3