Race Report: Richmond Half Marathon

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, some drills) went off without a hitch (a rarity). A perfect day.

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 starting forever. Those first miles feel long. 

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.

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.

Instead, everything fell apart. 

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?

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 didn’t get over it. 

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.) 

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. 

(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. 

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. 

Next up: the biggest hill on the course. 

(Spoiler alert: mile 7 did not go well.)

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 assume 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. 

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. 

Mile 7

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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?

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.”

Hang on. That sounds familiar… 

Didn’t I just write that on my own dang Instagram?

“But, Charlie/pessimistic Teal, I just ran 13 miles at the pace I need to run for DOUBLE that in a few weeks.” 

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 five days later? 

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. 

“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. 

But. 

I can’t give up until it’s over. I have the taper to shore up my confidence and mental game. 

And on December 3, I try again, for another PR. Kamikaze style. 

Race Report: Richmond Half Marathon 2019

Whenever 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: CIM 2014, Pittsburgh 2018, CIM 2018. Of course, there are also data suggesting the opposite: seasons that were resounding flops from start to finish, like this year’s Boston, Grandma’s 2015, and the 2016 Trials. 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.

Instead, with less than two weeks to go, it fell apart.

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.

I took the next day off. Inspired by a comment from teammate Carrie Mack, 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. Am I just making excuses? The symptoms didn’t all match up with Achilles tendonitis, but horror stories from friends with Achilles injuries scared me.

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.

The roller coaster of the week—will I run or not?—drove me crazy. I had the same feelings as before Grandma’s Marathon 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—WILL I RUN OR NOT? SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME!—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.

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 able to run.”

That day, I realized my attitude needed to change. I was grateful 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 (though it felt hard… shut up, pessimistic Teal!), a day mostly off, and a shakeout with strides. The calf, for all my obsession over every sensation I felt there, seemed fine.

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). Maybe I’m in better shape than I think! Maybe the unusual last few weeks will leave me super tapered and super hungry! 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.

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. “Bang on.” The man said he was shooting for 5:50s, but this was good for now. My main theory for my poor performance in Twin Cities is that I ran alone and had no one to gauge off, so I was happy we formed an alliance. 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.

For the most part, my sports psych efforts focused on not to berating myself when I hit a slow split. Relax, breathe, let it go. To my credit, I did that with that second split. Fine, we just need to get in a better rhythm. 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: Relax, let it go. Don’t tense up too much. Mr. 5:50 is still here, he’s fine with this. It’s fine.

As we turned down an out and back, our pack started to reel in Kate, a Oiselle/Raleigh Distance Project athlete. I wanted to pull her into our group, but instead somehow I got dropped in the move. My pack pulled ahead, with Kate a little off the back, and me all alone behind everyone. What just happened?? Mile 4 was another 6 flat.

Mile 4: What just happened?

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: Is it potmarks? That’s not right…Distractions always welcome midrace!) I felt my ankle wobbling: Oh no, this is what does my calf in! But then: My calf seems okay, fine actually. Paranoia brought more awareness of my ankle working than I’ve ever had, making me cautious and my stride feel awkward. (Like when you focus too much on one word and it starts to sound weird.) Still, I hit mile 6 in 5:56. See, I’m feeling better.

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.

And as always, the thoughts of dropping out came. Why am I doing this if I’m just running slowly? 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. Am I risking hurting my calf just to have a mediocre race? But truthfully my calf felt fine. Am I just making excuses? 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.)

The "Another Disappointing Race,
Guess I'll Just Try and Finish" Face.

It seems like all year, when a race got hard, a make-it-or-break-it moment (should I stick with that girl or let her go?) 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: The victory today will be not giving up! At mile 10: The victory will be making the last 5K my fastest! But my mind and body didn’t cooperate with each other.

Around mile 10.

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.

The last mile.

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.

Certainly the season didn’t end on the best of notes. I can’t be sure how much the calf strain affected me (what would I have been able to do if the build-up had ended normally?). 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.

Dream big,
Teal

Race Report: 2018 Richmond Half Marathon

At the beginning of the season I write down my goals. They are always full of dreamy ambition based on the hope of training and life going absolutely flawlessly. Then training begins…. and reality sets in. Workouts don’t go perfectly. Early season races are ridiculously warm and humid. So are midseason races. 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.

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.

But in typical Teal fashion, after I made this more realistic goal, I thought about how I could twist it into meeting my original goal: I’ll go out conservatively (e.g. 5:55 pace), and maybe I can pick it up in the second half? 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 faster than 5:55.  

Race morning was a bit windy but otherwise perfect as promised. The first two miles were a hair over 5:55, perfect. We were running into the wind and I tried to visualize the course and how this meant we’d have the wind at our backs at the end. Look at me, staying positive! I found myself in a little pack of four or so women and tried to quiet my over analytical mind (Is this too fast? Is this too slow?) 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. That’s okay, the pace was a little fast for this early. Just keep them in sight.

Photo credit: Cheryl Young

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. As always, 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. Keep that pack in sight and try to reel it in.

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. Oh yea, I’m good on hills.

I knew the 10K split would be a PR, but was pleasantly surprised it wasn’t by just a second or two but by over twenty. 10K PR: check. One PR down, two to go.

I tried not to be intimidated by the pace, but to take it one mile at a time. Just get through the park, through these last rolls. I can do it, I am doing it. 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. Can I catch her?? I thought I could. I’m going to really press from 10 on and catch her. Just get to 10 miles.

Photo credit: Cheryl Young

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. Here we go.

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. Huh, I guess I am more tired than I think. Continuing to put one foot in front of the other seemed easier than waving, so I stuck with that.

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. Can I catch them?? 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.

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.

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.

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.

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 summer of speed is more like the fall of fast. That’s fine by me.

One more PR to go.

All smiles on a day full of PRs.

Dream big, 

Teal 

Race Reports: Cul-de-sac 5K 1 and 2

The summer of speed 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.

Cul-de-sac 5K #1

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°, with a real feel of 101°. 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.

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.

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. Seriously?? I tried to get back on it and when another girl passed me I didn’t immediately let her go. I remembered the DC Half, 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. Geez, this is terrible. Why am I so bad at these?? Why I am running these?? Mile 3: 6:22.

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 as usual 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. Blaming the heat for the slow time is easier, but it was hot for everyone and I didn’t compete well. Next time.

The final sprint for fourth.

Cul-de-sac 5K #2

Next time turned out to be about ten degrees cooler (a chilly 82°) and far less oppressive (a real feel of only 83°!). 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 faster than that for ten miles three months ago?? I mean, c'mon. 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.

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. What?!? Damn those out and backs for probably screwing up my watch. Damn me for relying so much on my watch.

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.

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.

Finishing the second race.

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.

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 mile 26 Teal) earlier on.

One more “practice” 5K to go.

What’s your go to strategy for a 5K?

Dream big, 

Teal 

Summer of Speed

Summertime means sports bra tan lines, sunlit morning and evening runs, an unimaginable amount of sweat… and another attempt to improve at the 5K.

My 5K PR just does not stack up to my marathon time. Although I still think running calculators are not always accurate and need to be taken with a grain of (sweat-encrusted) salt, it’s striking that plugging in my recent Pittsburgh 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.

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 that 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 end up mad I didn’t push harder earlier. 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.

So I’m trying to work on getting comfortable with 5K uncomfortable-ness. I found a plan in an old Running Times (RIP) 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.

Track workouts from Terrace Mahon.
Move up to the next when you can hit or better the projected paces. 

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 Richmond’s Cul-de-sac 5K series. 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 Summer Track Series. 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.)

The summer of speed begins.

The focus and serious PR attempt will be at the Pony Pastures 5K 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.

Summer of Speed Schedule

Cul-de-sac 5Ks – July 2, 9, and 16

Track mile – July 18

Pony Pasture 5K – July 28

Spouse Showdown* (800m) – Aug 1

*The Spouse Showdown is our own creation; everyone else is just racing an 800m and not risking their marriages over a track race.

Dream big,

Teal

Race Report: Richmond Marathon

2:50 is my white whale. I have felt like a runner capable of a sub-2:50 marathon since 2012. From 2012 to 2016, I ran five marathons with a goal of 2:50 or faster. I broke 2:50 just once.

So what do I do? I decide that my first marathon post-baby should be another sub-2:50 attempt. There was a reason for this nonsense, namely that I had run exactly that pace for a 12-mile marathon pace workout. A few weeks later, I comfortably cruised through 10-plus miles at that pace again… until a bad hamstring cramp freaked me out enough to cut the workout a few miles short. Before my last few marathons, I had done 16 miles at goal pace, but I consoled myself that I used to run big PRs off just 12. But stopping that workout early also meant I only ran two twenty milers, when I usually do three or more.

And so I fluctuated between thinking that 2:50 was crazy and trying to convince myself that maybe it wasn’t. But I knew I had to go for it; my recent confidence issues wouldn’t be fixed by finishing a marathon, but from challenging myself like I used to and seeing what I was capable of. As an added motivation, the top five would win prize money and, based on results from the last few years, 2:50 seemed like it would get me fourth or fifth. So I repeatedly tried to silence all negativity… or was I silencing logic? Whatever, just ignore it.

Race morning temps were in the twenties; I’m not sure I’ve ever run a marathon that cold and I was thrilled. (I would much rather be too cold than too hot when racing.) Just before the start, I removed my last layer: a long-sleeve I planned to ditch. As soon as I took it off, I put it right back on. I’d take it off once I warmed up after a few miles. (A few miles turned out to be 17.)

Early on I just tried to relax. I couldn’t believe the marathon was here and that I had to somehow get through 26.2 miles at my second fastest pace ever; I tried to not think about it. My hope all through pregnancy was to run this (now) hometown race as my first marathon back, and the fact that it was all working out—I am here doing it!—was special. I focused on being grateful and continually tried to ignore how far I had left to go.

All smiles early on.

 I hit the first few miles right around goal pace and at six miles I was in 5th place (thanks to the enthusiastic spectators for letting me know!) After a speedy downhill seventh mile, we crossed a bridge I used to run in college while training for my first ever marathon. On the bridge, a woman and a man caught me and I tucked in to form a little pack. We hit the mile 8 marker and the guy said something like, “Yes! We crushed that mile, let’s keep it rolling!” It reminded me how nice it was to have constant encouragement at your side, but I saw the split and knew it was a bit too fast for this early. (My plan was to wait until much, much later to get competitive.) I dropped back slightly. The guy gestured for me to get back with them, but I begrudgingly let them (and my podium spot) go. Maybe she’ll come back to me…

The whole race was fall perfection, but miles 8 to 10 were particularly gorgeous: the James River on one side and a canopy of autumn leaves overhead. Someone had set up a bonfire in his front yard, which seemed like the perfect way to spend a crisp fall morning. That, or going for a long run, which is what I truly love to do at this time of year. Right, enjoy this.

The next few miles had some hills and I tried to focus on little landmarks: when I’d take a gel (mile 10), when I might see my family (mile 11), when the course flattens again (mile 12). Somewhere around mile 12, I caught and passed the woman who dropped me at mile 8. I was back in 5th and for a stretch I felt really good. I hit the halfway a few seconds ahead of pace—perfect—and I didn’t dwell on the fact that I had just run farther at that pace than I have in a year and half (and now had to do it all over again). At a cheer zone around mile 14, the M.C. started yelling, “Alright everyone let’s cheer for this woman in pink!! Alright pink woman!” There was no else around, but I felt special nonetheless. I was having fun; I was doing what I set out to do. Maybe I can even pick it up? No. Still too early.

Around mile 15, the course goes over a long (~1.5 mile) highway/bridge heading back into the city. I knew from the elevation chart we were heading uphill again, but it was one of those long stretches where you can’t really tell you’re going up, except you’re slowing and it feels inexplicably hard and it’s windy and, Ugh, this is just the worst. The bliss I’d felt around mile 14 faded quickly. In any marathon this is a tough stretch for me; the early miles are taking their toll but you’re not yet close enough to start counting down to the finish. My feet were really starting to hurt, which seemed earlier than usual: Are my shoes too old?? Did running fewer miles in training mean I’m not prepared for all this pounding??  But then, I’m running a freaking marathon, of course my feet hurt! I refocused on taking it one mile at a time: Get to mile 17 and the course will flatten, get to mile 18 and take your last gel, get to mile 20 and you’re in the homestretch.

Near mile 19, I got passed again and this time I knew it was trouble. This was the point in the race to fight and go with her, but she flew by so fast it didn’t seem possible. My pace had slipped in the last few miles and I was now in danger of not getting top five or sub-2:50. C’mon, fight for it. But she was gone. There was a little blip of a hill over a highway and as I ran toward it I was praying, “C’mon, God, give me the motivation to get back in this race and not give up.” As I crested the hill, I saw the girl who just passed me blow by another woman and suddenly I knew I could catch that woman too. There had been no woman in my sights for miles; she must be slowing. Here we go.

Also in this stretch I heard the best cheer of the day. After I removed my long sleeve shirt, people could finally see my number, #22, and were cheering for it. One girl screamed, “I don’t know ‘bout you…” I knew it was directed at me, but I didn’t put it together for a few strides: “… but I’m feeling 22.” I was too far past her to say anything, but I wish I could tell her that is the most thought out cheer I’ve ever heard. Thank you.

As I focused on my new target, I passed the 20-mile mark. I always memorize my goal splits for 20 and 25 miles; I know that seems silly (especially 25) but it’s helped me in numerous races. If I’m anywhere close, it gives me a boost to know I’m ahead of pace or a kick in the pants if I’m just over. (If I’m nowhere close, I’m already well aware and not looking at splits anymore. See: Boston 2013, 2014 and the Trials.) I knew I was probably a few seconds slow, but when I saw the clock, it seemed I was nearly 40 seconds slow. Can that be right? That doesn’t seem right...? For some dumb reason (I am not exactly logical mid-marathon), I didn’t just look at my watch, which would later tell me that whatever I saw wasn’t right. I was only 11 seconds slow. I wish I had known that, 11 seconds seems within striking distance; 40 seemed unlikely. I tried to put it behind me; I can still get 5th. Focus on getting 5th.

Mile 24, all focus.

I caught 5th place a little after mile 20 and tried to make it decisive. She stuck with me for a bit before falling back and I tried to keep pressing. I was running scared, but it was helping. Once again, I felt good. I can do this. Maybe I can even pick it up and get back on pace. Miles 21 and 22 were faster and I started counting down: one more mile until I take PowerAde for the last time, then one more mile until I see my family, then one more mile and I’m done. I can do this. I AM DOING THIS. My feet hurt, my bones hurt, my left calf was tightening. Doesn’t matter, I’m picking it up, I’m finishing strong. Except, after mile 22, I wasn’t. I was slowing. Miles 24 and 25 were the slowest of the day. But I felt like I was trying; I felt like I was giving it my all. I knew sub-2:50 wasn’t going to happen, but I could get close. And more importantly, I could hang on to 5th. I had to hang on.

With just the 0.2 left, the course turns toward the river and you go flying downhill. People were cheering: “You’re in 5th!” “It’s the last podium spot, go get it!” As I got closer to the finish I swear I heard multiple people screaming, "She's on your tail!" I was sprinting all out, flying down the hill, praying out loud: “Please, please, let me get 5th. Please, please don’t let me give up now.” All the way to the finish line.

2:50:20. Fifth place.

So I did get my top 5 finish. Sixth place finished two minutes later. Once again I have no idea what those people were cheering about (or how I conjure up these hallucinations of cheers). The half was finishing simultaneously, so maybe they were cheering some rivalry among those finishers. (The top places had been decided long before.)

Women's Podium. (1st place left before the ceremony.)

But once again I did not break 2:50. Did I really push hard enough? What if someone had told me there was a woman on my tail a bit earlier? What if I hadn’t miscalculated the 20-mile split? Could I have knocked off 21 seconds to get my other goal of 2:49:XX? I don’t think so. Even “sprinting all out, flying down the hill” my split for the last 1.2 wasn’t all that fast. When I ran a huge ten-mile PR of 60:19 in 2014, someone commented that I should have gone just two seconds per mile faster to nab my original goal of sub-60. When you put it like that, it sounds easy (here, it was just one measly second per mile), but it’s not so simple. In those final miles, I really thought I was pushing it and picking it up, but my body wasn’t responding. Even if I had been under goal pace, I think I would have lost it in the final miles. Miles 24 and 25 were the slowest of the day, despite telling myself I could finally give everything I had left.

On the one hand, I’m a little annoyed I just missed it… but on the other hand, I’m also more than a bit surprised I did it at all. As always, God carried me through the race. He gave me a motivational boost right when I needed it most and proved once again that I capable of things that seem more than a little bananas on paper. The time is my second fastest EVER, fifteen seconds faster than I ran at the Trials when I was in MUCH MUCH better shape. (Case in point why I will happily take a day in the 20s over one in the 80s.) How did I do that? The training was not the greatest. The tune-up races were slower than goal pace. There were many times (that I was actively trying to ignore) when all the miles left seemed insurmountable, but unlike most races there wasn’t any particular moment where dropping out seemed like a real possibility. I’m not sure I vanquished all the demons I talked about in my last post, but I certainly proved I am still a marathoner who doesn’t give up. (Also: We are all capable of so much more than we realize, if we just believe it.) 

And that’s what I’m most excited about. Because the training for this marathon was shorter than normal, I wasn’t as eager as usual about a taper or time off. I’m already anxious to get going again (but am forcing myself to take my usual time off anyway). I’m dreaming of spring races and I’m excited to see what I can do on training that’s closer to 100 percent. All season, I considered this race to be the ultimate rust buster: just get the first postpartum marathon out of the way, it wouldn’t be perfect, it wouldn’t be a PR, but I’d prove I can conquer it again… and then next season I’ll get back to business.

I can’t wait.

Dream big, 

Teal

Ready or Not...

The Richmond Marathon is Saturday. Am I ready? Yes… and no. I’ve done the long runs, the tempos, the track workouts. Some went well, some didn’t, that’s pretty par for the course; no buildup is perfect. I went in with lower mileage goals and lower expectations to match. But despite doing pretty much everything I set out to do, I still don’t feel as ready as I’d like.

I think it's because coming back from Baby was so unpredictable. Some things were easier than expected, so in some ways I feel like I haven't done enough to deserve to run well. Other things were a lot harder than expected, totally blindsiding me, and they’ve left lasting scars on my confidence.

It's been a long road back, but I've done the work.
My body is ready... now to get my mind there...

Easier than expected: Endurance.
In early summer, I wrote out a plan that slowly increased my weekly mileage and my long runs. It looked a little daunting, considering I was coming back from six weeks of zero running and many months of short walk/shuffles. But the long runs came back surprisingly easily; twenty miles is once again no biggie, which seemed impossible just a few months ago.

As hard as expected: Speed.
I suspected speed would come back slower than endurance and that was/is definitely the case. All season, I’ve run basically one pace, whether it’s a half marathon, a ten miler, 12 miles at goal pace alone on the roads, a trail 5K. I can’t speed up in shorter races… but I also haven’t really slowed down in longer workouts. I may not be able to crush a 5K (when can I ever?) but if I can run that same pace for 26.2… then speed schmeed, I’ll be just fine with that.

Harder than expected:
1. Not having control/ownership of my body. One thing I didn't appreciate fully was the role nursing would play in my running. I figured I’d have to time workouts around Baby’s meals (definitely true in the early days, less of an issue now) and that I probably wouldn’t get to my racing weight this season. (I don’t feel comfortable worrying too much about weight loss while I’m nursing and see no need to rush things in that department.) I didn’t anticipate the ab issues I’d have, which my PT says won’t resolve until I stop nursing since the hormones can cause ligaments to stay loose. Because of that, I haven’t been able to attack core or strength workouts with my old gusto. My body is still not my own, and I can’t treat it as such. I didn’t anticipate that. The fact that I slacked off on these “little extras” makes me feel a bit like I didn’t put in enough effort, that I don’t deserve to run well.

2. But the much bigger issue that I did not see coming, AT ALL, is the hit that labor/delivery gave to my running self-esteem. I knew labor would be a doozy, to say the least, despite everyone assuring me, “You’re an athlete; you’ll be fine.” Well, I wasn’t. I always knew I’d get an epidural—I didn’t see the point in suffering when relief is possible and safe—but I didn’t anticipate how bad actually taking it would make me feel afterwards. All the women who do it naturally? How the fudge do they do that? And why couldn’t I? That mattered not a whit to me before labor, but somehow afterwards I felt really defeated that I couldn’t take it. (Though I do believe there’s something to be said for going in knowing I was going to get an epidural eventually. You can’t do anything your mind isn’t set on.) And ultimately I needed a c-section. While I am beyond grateful for modern medicine and a healthy happy Baby (albeit one with an off-the-charts-enormous head), I still feel like my body failed me. My body that I rely on so much to run well, it couldn’t do this thing it’s made to do.

One thing I hear repeatedly (I even wrote about it myself before Baby) is that labor toughens you. All these women say, “Running is easy after labor, nothing compares.” “If my body can do that, it can do anything.” Well, what if my body can’t/didn’t do that? Maybe everyone who says those things made it through naturally (and to them I say, “Heck yea, you are crazy tough and CAN do anything), but that would put them in the minority.

Maybe I’m alone in this (I hope so... I don't wish self doubt on anyone!), but I feel the opposite; my sense of toughness has been seriously questioned ever since labor. One person who labored naturally told me contractions just feel like bad menstrual cramps, but in my opinion they are at least an order of magnitude worse. Which makes me wonder: Maybe I’ve never had a bad cramp. Maybe I’ve never felt real pain. Maybe I’m a giant wuss.... And it spirals from there.

This attitude is absolutely terrible for the marathon. I do not think I’m a particularly talented runner; I certainly did not start off all that fast. I’ve always thought any success came from being tough and determined and now I’m left wondering… am I really?

This is the part where I’m not sure I’m ready. The marathon is a mental beast and your mind has to be ready to tackle it. I grappled with whether I should run at all. But giving up now—not even showing up at the start line—is giving into those demons that have haunted me for almost eight months. That’s not the answer. It’s time to shut them up.

It will not be easy; these last few days I’ve been preparing myself with mantras and battle strategies to have ready when the doubts start. In a recent episode of Lindsey Hein’s podcast, Deena Kastor explains that when the race gets tough you have to dig deep and "define yourself," and that’s what I feel I need to do. Remember what I am capable of and prove it to myself. Find the old Teal, deep within me somewhere. The one who IS tough, maybe not in the delivery room, but on the race course. Somewhere on the streets of Richmond, when the miles are taking their toll, and the pace starts to slip, she damn well better be ready to come out... or we're going to have to get her out, one way or another.

Dream big,
Teal

Dream Big, Mama

Given how I sign all these posts, there is a lot of appropriate gear for my Baby:

Dream big, little one.

It seems the phrase "Dream big, little one" comes on just about anything you can imagine.

It’s left me wondering, where are the “Dream big, Mama” signs? We can’t expect kids to do things (be kind, say please, eat vegetables) that we don’t model ourselves. Yet one thing I’ve been (mostly subtly) reminded after becoming a mom is that I should quit all this dreaming big nonsense.

Since having my daughter, lots of people have asked me if I’ll ever get back to running, as if it would be strange to do so. When I say yes, the follow up question comes with a sneer and a heavy dose of cynicism, “Will you try to get back to the level you were at?” When I say, “Yes, I’d like to qualify for the 2020 Trials,” there is often a silence as if I’ve answered the question wrong, and the topic usually changes. (After I responded that I am running and would like to get back to where I was, one person completely ignored my answer to say that, even though parenting can be overwhelming, “at least you don’t have to worry about running so much anymore.”)

Others are not at all surprised I’d want to get back to running or try to make the Trials. But when I say how much I’m already running and that I want to race soon, I feel the need to temper it. “I’d like to run a marathon this fall,” I say. Then I quickly add, “But I’ll drop to the half if I need to, if that’s not realistic.” Because people give me a look like it’s not realistic. (Note: I know of both pros and amateurs who have PR-ed 7-9 months post-baby. And I’m not trying to PR, I’m just trying to race again.) I know they mean well; they are afraid I’ll hurt myself or become too overwhelmed. They’d rather I’d relax about it and take my time.

These responses make me feel obliged to defend myself. I’ve actually stalled writing this post because I’m not sure I ever do it sufficiently... but here goes:
(1) Like everything about pregnancy/postpartum/parenting/life, everyone is different. Some runners come back quickly, some take their time. There are reasons for both approaches and all that matters is you do what works for you and your family.
(2) I realize the injury risk and I’m increasing my mileage and training load carefully, focusing on eating right, and (trying!) to sleep as much as possible.
(3) Running helps me be a better, happier, less anxious Mom and reminds me that I’m still me, even with this new role. And, for me, the fun of running lies in challenging myself and training for races, so that’s what I’m going to do.

...Saying (3) means I have to also add that (4) OF COURSE I love my daughter/being a Mom/spending time with her. (That should go without saying, but it seems like if a Mom ever says she wants to do something selfish (e.g. run because it makes her happy, spend many hours training/away from her daughter), there’s some backlash as if that means she doesn’t care enough about her kid. Which is ridiculous.)

Being a parent requires sacrifices, absolutely. But I don’t think you should stop being yourself and pursuing healthy hobbies and passions. If you can find a way to chase your dreams that works for your family, then you should. Your kids will get a lot out of watching the pursuit: the work you put in and how you deal with both the failures and the successes.

So the short version is: Yes, I’m running again. Yes, I’m training for a marathon this fall. And yes, I'm racing soon... as in, on Sunday.

Here’s my fall schedule:
Navy Half Marathon: September 17
Army Ten Miler: October 8
Richmond Marathon: November 11

My training plan is looser than normal, with my goal pace ever evolving as I see what I’m capable of in workouts. (That should always be the case, but I’m typically more stubborn/rigid about my goals.) The buildup to the marathon is shorter than usual (12 weeks when I prefer 16) and I won’t hit the mileage I have in the past. All that means that I won’t be chasing a PR, but I’m excited to be working my way back. I know this season is a stepping-stone to the next… and to 2020. So I’m aware of my new reality and where I’m at right now. But I’m still super excited to race again and to…

Dream big,
Teal

Pregnant Race Report - Richmond Half Marathon

Months ago, when I was hiding my reasons for not putting together a racing schedule for the summer and fall, I tried to take some of the pressure off by announcing my plan to run the Richmond Half Marathon. I was moving to Richmond, it made perfect sense. (Why it was the only race on the calendar made significantly less sense.) I didn’t reveal that I wanted to waddle it instead of race it, as I hoped to be a few months pregnant at that point, but I wasn’t lying saying I wanted to do it.

I realized early on that I would miss the running scene. As soon as I started trying to get pregnant, I missed competing and suffering through the hard workouts beforehand. I missed the anticipation of race day, the excitement of the start, the enthusiastic spectators, the spilled Gatorade, the joy (and guilt-free food fest) at the end. I knew jogging a half marathon mid-pregnancy would not satisfy all those longings, but at least I’d experience the fun of race day and be around fellow runners (including my GRC teammates who were actually racing).

I didn’t have any plan for the race itself; pregnancy has a way of keeping you on your toes: some days you feel like a runner, some days like a balloon filled with lead. With a take-whatever-I-get attitude, I wasn’t at all nervous (an unheard-of race morning experience). I was just out to enjoy a long run with a few thousand people.

My only concern was how many times I’d need to stop to use the bathroom. General nervousness may be down, but the pre-race pee anxiety was increased by an order of magnitude. After one Porta Potty trip, I needed another but the line was too long and I had to skip it to make it to the start. Heading off to run 13 miles, nearly 5 months pregnant, already needing to pee? This is sure to go well.

I decided 8 minute pace was probably fair, which had the immense bonus of allowing me to run with Husband, something that never happens and made the race a lot more enjoyable. I’m used to pushing myself and fighting to beat those around me, but this race had an entirely different flavor and I wasn’t sure what I’d focus on. My focus (albeit a cheesy one) became how special it would be to run this race as a family.

We settled in the first few miles, trying to shake off the chilly air and savoring every sunny stretch. I giggled to myself listening to two runners discussing the crazy people ahead who could run 6-minute pace. Sigh, I used to be one of those crazies.

By mile four, there was no denying a bathroom break was imminent. I picked it up a bit in the hope that I’d be able to catch back up to Husband not long after. Amazingly/luckily/fortunately I’ve never had to stop in a race before, so the pee-and-dash was another new experience. I was in and out of that Porta Potty so fast I thought I was forgetting something. Are my shorts around my ankles? Is there TP on my shoe? But all seemed fine and before long I spotted Husband ahead. (An advantage of his height: he’s easy to find in races.) I picked it up to catch him and was shocked I felt good at that pace, but was also happily relieved to slow it down again when we reunited. I was reminded of Brother and his valiant effort in Boston 2011, but was well aware my own quick stop and catch up after having jogged a few miles is not exactly the same as what he did 17 miles into running a marathon at PR pace.

After that I felt better and was determined to stay with Husband. We knocked off shockingly even splits and, to my immense surprise, I didn’t have to stop to pee again. The course was autumn perfection, with gorgeous colors and leaves falling. But by mile 9 or so, I was getting a little bored; shocker: races go by slower when you’re going slower. I wasn’t used to not racing and I had to accept people passing me, something else new. (Ohh, I get passed all the time. I just usually hate it.) I thought about how someday, post-baby, I’d like to race this course for real and get back to being one of those 6-minute crazies. I started doing recon, thinking about what it’d feel like at this point, turn, etc. I may not be racing now, but one day…

With about half a mile to go, we made a turn to head down a long hill to the finish. I’d heard about this hill (and even seen part of it while spectating a few years back) but I was not prepared for how extreme the drop was. We were flying. And of course, husband, with his legs that are approximately the length of my body, was cruising down it at what seemed like world record pace (a disadvantage—for me anyway—of his height). I tried to keep up without falling over and rolling down the thing (a serious achievement while pregnant) and we finished side by side.

Post-race. 
Mom and Dad might not have PRed, but Baby did.

In yet another first, I realized later that my belly button—which has moved into its new pregnant, popped out position—got chafed, which has also certainly never happened before.

No matter how much you’ve run, there are always new experiences.

Dream big,
Teal