Race Report: 2019 US Ten Mile Championships

Analyzing Philly 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.

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 hype started building 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). How quickly am I going to get left behind?? 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 Cherry Blossom Ten Mile and Boston 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.

Man oh man, was I wrong. I got dropped in the first 200 meters and literally laughed out loud. Seriously?!? It didn’t surprise me that the leaders went out hard, but I couldn’t believe that everyone else did too. They all have way more confidence than I do. I forced myself to slow down, to let them go. Surely some of them will come back. When I saw the mile 1 clock come into view, I tried to slow even more. Wayyy too fast. Coach is not going to like this. (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.

In the dark, as I ran alone along the river, a fox darted across the empty road in front of me. Go right ahead, Mr. Fox. I’m the only other one out here.

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.

Man oh man, wrong again. I hit the second mile in 6:32. WTH?!? Was that mile long and the first short!? 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--Just get back on pace for the next mile--but the reality of that mile would haunt me.

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—Relax, I’m back on pace—that stupid 6:30 would pop back up. Actually, you’re still way slow. Also, you’re in last place. 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.) Of course, they’re coming, they’re going to pass you eventually. 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. Try to get to mile 5 before the men catch you. Otherwise, it’s just embarrassing.

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. 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. Again, I wondered why I was doing this. I guess I didn’t deserve to be in this field. 

Mile 6 was slower still (6:13) and I started thinking I was once again running my VA Beach/Philly 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. 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. 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. DFL is better than DNF. At least I’ll get a workout out of it. Once again, did just deciding not to quit mean I gave up a bit? Could I have pressed harder?

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. This is the marathoner in me, it just takes this long to get me rolling. 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). Just get to the finish line… and then keep running for the restroom.

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 Philly, the last (downhill) mile (5:41) was my fastest, even faster than the blazing start. A reminder that there’s always more left than I think.

Classic stop-the-watch pose. Even when the watch shows
a disappointing time, God forbid it shows two extra seconds.

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.

The stomach issues immediately eased off and after some all-too-familiar tears 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 few days later, 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 last May, 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??)  That makes it even more frustrating.

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 PR 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.

One more race to go. How will this chapter end?

Dream big,
Teal

Race Report: Army Ten Miler 2018

After the Navy Half, things seemed to turn around. The weather improved, workouts went better, the September slump was ending! Maybe I could pull off the same comeback as 2014, when a bad September race was forgotten by a big PR at the Army Ten Miler and the trajectory of the season seemed to shift.

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.

Mile 2. Taking it so easy I can do this with my eyes closed.

I started slowly, a few seconds back from the line, and tried not to worry about the women surging ahead. But once again, it was hard to turn off my overanalyzing inner monologue. Is this easy enough?? I told myself it was and I hit 5 miles just over 6:10 pace, the slow end of my “start easy” range. OK, first part of the mission was a success. Surely I can pick it up from here. 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.

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. 

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. At least I can make this mile the fastest. At least I can finish strong.

The last mile.

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).

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.

I hoped that Army would be the moment that things turned around, like they did in 2014. 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 continue 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.

Dream big, 

Teal

Race Report: 2018 Cherry Blossom

Photo Credit: RunWashington

Three weeks ago, while I was wallowing in my disappointing workout, I got an email from the Cherry Blossom Ten Mile race saying I qualified for the elite women’s start, which would take off 12 minutes before the men and the rest of the field. The email—which I almost deleted without reading it, whoops—immediately lifted my spirits. It was an opportunity to be treated like a star, and even though I would get my butt kicked by the actual stars I knew I wanted to do it.

But I wasn’t sure if it was a bad idea; I’d likely be dropped in the first ten meters, was it worth being stuck in no woman’s land for 10 miles just to feel special? So I asked Friend of the Blog/Neon Angel Kerry, who’s run it a couple of times, if it was dumb to start with the elites, only to feel elite, when I was surely going to be dropped immediately. But she assured me that was exactly why you do it, that we deserve the special opportunity, and if I was in sub-60 shape I should go for it.

Breaking 60 minutes was my goal, but I hadn’t yet said it out loud and as I typed it back to Kerry, it became real: Oh, geez you really think you can break 60? That’s crazy.

At the beginning of the season, I thought this was one of the races I could go for a PR, but that seemed less and less likely lately. I figured a 10K PR was much more in reach, as my 10K PR (37:08, or 5:58 pace, from the first part of a half marathon) is actually a slower pace than my 10 mile PR (59:24, or 5:56 pace). (Which is why I remain super bummed to skip the opportunity to race a 10K.)

In the week before the race, I tried to wrap my mind around why, even if a 10 mile PR was a bit ambitious, sub-60 wasn’t totally crazy. I wrote down my rationale: I ran sub-60 pace at Cherry Blossom in 2015 and I’ve run some* faster workouts and a faster half marathon this season. (*It’s never ALL. Some workouts are faster, some are slower, and a lot comes down to which you focus on. I actively try to focus on the faster/glass half full ones.) As my confidence grew, the possibility snuck in of maybe—on a perfect day, if I feel unexpectedly amazing—maybe, just maybe going for a PR.

And I let the deadline for opting out of the elite start quietly pass.

Race morning was cold and there were about 40 other women freezing their buns off in the advanced start, all of whom looked intimidating. But I talked to one who had a similar goal—start at 6:00 pace—so that made me feel a bit better. I wouldn’t be totally alone from the gun.

Within the first quarter mile, two packs formed: the lead pack, trailing the press truck and motorcycles, and a “chase pack” of five or six women, including myself. I laughed to myself when my internal monologue called us a chase pack, as if the race was televised and the commentators had any reason to refer to us. Which of course they wouldn’t have, because we weren’t so much chasing the leaders as a self-selected group of women who clearly all had the nice round goal of 60 minutes on our minds. I was psyched that, not only was I not alone, there were a couple of women with the same idea. At a turn around near mile 2, we broke up a bit, but I stuck by Rochelle Basil, who had seemed to be in control of our little pack. 

At three miles we were exactly on 60-minute pace, but I fell back a little from Rochelle. I didn’t want to lose contact too soon as I worried that might lead to me giving up a bit and falling off the pace, so I was glad when I was able to reel her back in. As I pulled back alongside her, I began to feel better and around mile 5 ended up passing her.

Photo Credit: RunWashington

As we ran back down Independence, the sun was in my eyes and I could barely see in front of me, but as we turned to head south along the Tidal Basin I finally spotted another ponytail ahead. She was far off but I sensed I could catch her so I focused on her and just kept churning. I was feeling good and the next few miles were sub-six minutes. Maybe I could PR after all?! Around the 10K, I thought, Hmm maybe this is where I get my 10K PR… and I may have sped up a hair for a few strides to hit the 10K timing mat three seconds faster than my old PR.

Mile 7 was a 5:48 and I was flying high. I am going to PR! I suspected I might be running fast because the wind was at our backs, and things might drastically change when we rounded the tip of Hains Point and started heading north, but I was actively repelling all negativity so I didn’t dwell on it. Instead I focused on how good I felt and how much I was surprising myself. I’m in better shape than I thought!

Somewhere in this stretch I caught the woman ahead of me and started focusing on the next one, which was Susanna Sullivan, one of the top runners in the region. Could I catch Susanna Sullivan?! She must be coming back from something. (I later read that link and yes, she is.) I couldn’t really believe I was just behind her, but she was the next ponytail so catching her was my new focus.

As we rounded the turn at the bottom of Hains Point, reality set in a bit. The wind was in our faces, but I was willing myself to stay positive. By mile 8, I had averaged 5:56 pace and I just needed to keep that up for two more miles to PR. I had figured any chance of a PR would mean wildly picking it up at the end, but I didn’t need to do anything too crazy, just maintain. I kept my sights on Sullivan.

But my ninth mile was 6:01. Just like last time, I was unraveling a bit and it was clear the wind had been helping and was now actively hurting. Okay, well now I do need to kick it in a little harder. One more mile, pick it up. But I couldn’t, or I wasn’t anyway. There were signs for 1200 meters to go, (C’mon, GO!), 800 meters (GO GO GO!), and, while I felt like my effort was increasing, I wasn’t sure I was going any faster. I seemed to have nothing. The men had started passing me around mile 9 and they were flying by. Beforehand, I had wondered what effect that would have: if getting passed by someone at essentially an all-out sprint would (a) encourage me to pick it up or (b) crush my spirits, but it was actually (c) no effect whatsoever. The finish line being so close also had no effect. The last mile, often my fastest, was the slowest of the day.

So I did not PR. I lost it in those last two miles and finished ten seconds over. It was incredibly frustrating because I came so close and I really thought I had it. I keep missing my big goals by a hair (sub-2:50 in November’s marathon by 20 seconds, sub-1:20 in March’s half by 27 seconds) and I absolutely cannot miss my next big goal by a hair: ten seconds, twenty seconds, whatever. But on the other hand, only in my really optimistic moments did I think a PR was possible at this race. My PR came from the spring of 2015, when I felt fit and fast, fresh off qualifying for 2016 Trials, and with the added motivation to beat my brother. This time I surprised myself a bit, especially with how good I felt in the middle miles while knocking off sub-6 minute miles. (Yea, the wind may have helped, but shhh!)

Even though I was alone for the second half of the race, I have zero regrets about doing the advanced start. Being in the elite start reminded me that I really want to be in more elite starts, to deserve to be there, and to be mixing it up more with the top locals and top Americans. I want to be able to hang with the Susanna Sullivans and not just when they are coming back from something.

I needed that reminder, because it's time for me to stop making excuses or doubting myself because I’m coming back from something, namely having a Baby. A month or so ago, Husband asked if I was still using Baby as an excuse. He was just curious: did I feel like I still was being held back a bit/recovering from pregnancy? I said no. That was my excuse last season, but this season I'm back to running times and doing workouts that are pretty close to my old self, even my old self at her best. And I’m sick of putting an asterisk on things, “This is the best I’ve run since Baby.” (Please note: every woman is going to have a different timeline and road back, this is just my own personal experience and I realize I’m lucky to be where I’m at. But every woman should feel totally comfortable with taking it at whatever pace she wants or needs to!)

But… sometimes I do doubt myself and think, Well, I just had a Baby, I don’t deserve to start with the elites/there’s no way I can run that fast/a PR is out of the question. During the race, I was thrilled at the idea of PRing because that would prove (to myself more than anyone) that I am faster than ever, not just the fastest I’ve been postpartum. Well... not quite yet.

Although I did technically get that 10K PR, so at least there's that.

Dream big,
Teal

Race Reports (2 for 1!) – Navy Half and Army Ten

For my first postpartum race, the Navy Half Marathon, I was overly concerned about the logistics: getting there on time, feeding Baby beforehand, what to do with my bag while I warmed up… I hadn’t raced for real (i.e. while not pregnant) since the Trials, 19 months before. I worried I’d forgotten some crucial part.

I should have been more concerned about the weather, which is my normal pre-race pre-occupation and while I did realize the weather wasn’t great, it wasn’t until I was running my warm up—sans any warm-ups—that I realized just how not great it was. Warm and humid: welcome back to DC. (Sadly, Richmond is just as bad.)

My plan was to start on the slower side and run the first four miles around 6:40 pace, and then see if I could pick it up. I focused on not running the first mile too fast, as I’ve had a tendency to do in workouts lately. (My sense of pace hasn’t yet made its postpartum return).

I impressed myself with a 6:46 first mile, which I took as a good sign (not too fast!) and didn’t care that it was on the slower side. The next few miles were 6:37-6:38 and I made it 4 miles on 6:40 pace, exactly as I’d planned.

That boosted my confidence and I passed a few women. I was back in a race and seemingly handling it well. My sister was cheering around mile 6 and when she asked how I felt, I shrugged. “I dunno… hot?” I did feel hot… but also, not too terrible. I focused on making it to mile 7.5 where Husband and Baby were cheering. Seeing them felt like rocket fuel. (Though the double-caffeinated gel I took just before may also have contributed.) Suddenly I felt really good. Look at me, running a smart race in this weather. I’m going to negative split the heck out of this thing! I picked it up slightly, hit the turn around, saw my family again at mile 10, and picked it up some more. Maybe I should have started faster, maybe I’m in better shape than I thought… but then the 12th mile hit and I fell apart. When I had been feeling good, I told myself I’d really start pushing in the last mile, but the last mile came and I couldn’t go any faster. I got passed with about a mile to go and had no response. Despite not finishing on the greatest of notes, I still felt like I had done a pretty OK job at my first race back.

Best part of yesterday's race was seeing this one and her daddy (twice!) out on the race course. The boost they gave me helped me negative split despite the super gross, humid day. Seriously so grateful for such a supportive family. #nafhalf #finisher #medalmonday #halfmarathon #motherrunner #momswhorun #comeback #instarunners #supportsquad #postpartum #postpartumrunning #milestothetrials

A post shared by Teal (@runnerteal) on Sep 18, 2017 at 11:03am PDT

For my second postpartum race, the Army Ten Miler, I was hoping things would go even better. Navy had busted the rust, now it was time to work on racing a little better and digging deep at the end. Except the weather was—amazingly—even worse. Warm, humid, gross. Again. It was so bad, in fact, that the race organizers eventually shortened the course and stopped recording times.

Going in, I wasn’t too sure of an appropriate goal pace, which seems to be a trend of the season. I’m finding it difficult post-baby to know where I’m at. I end some workouts feeling like I should have gone faster while others (particularly tempo runs—my nemesis—that have often fallen on terrible weather days) are disasters. Coming off a great (weather) week and an excellent marathon pace run, I thought 6:20 pace would be doable. But at Army I didn’t hit 6:20 for the first, or the second mile, and by mile 3, 6:30 pace seemed more realistic.

But that wasn’t either. The next few miles were slower still. It started misting but not enough to provide any relief, somehow things just got wetter and grosser. I struggled to force down my caffeinated gel, telling myself even a placebo effect would be great. (PSA: Use tune up races to practice your goal race fueling. I don’t really need a gel in a 10 miler, but I definitely will in the marathon, so I made my stomach practice.) I felt like it helped, but my splits don’t show it. I focused on my other mid-race booster—seeing Baby and Husband, this time at mile 8.5. Just get to them. One more mile until I see them. Half a mile… When does this fudging bridge end?? Somewhere in the middle of the race I decided if I could just run my Navy Half pace (6:36), that would be something. (Would that be something?? This race is shorter… and it’s later in the season, when I should be in better shape. But sometimes you just need to come up with any goal, no matter how silly, that can stop you from totally throwing in the towel.)

Seeing my family again inspired me to pick it up slightly, mile 9 was at least faster than mile 8. But the mile-9 marker also made me realize I’d run 9 miles slower than my 10-mile PR. That was eye opening. Yipes, this is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Trying to remind myself why the heck I'm running
this terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad race.
[Photo credit: Cheryl Young]

But am I really pushing as hard as I could be? Post-baby I feel like I’ve forgotten how to push through hard workouts/races. So I tried to really dig and I was able to pick it up in the end, rather than slow down like at Navy, so that’s something. And I did finish in the same average pace as Navy, so at least I hit that totally-random-mid-race-I-need-something-to-go-for goal.

But that’s not saying much, as the race was my personal worst ten-mile time ever. I’m not even listed in the results and I’m totally fine with that. It appears like I didn’t run at all… and I started wishing I hadn’t. I felt bad I dragged my family up to DC for the weekend, just to run a race that left me feeling much worse. I ran faster for farther in a workout by myself. But that reminded me that I did at least get a workout in, if only a crappy, overly hyped one. It was clearly a bad day, and while I feel like I am always blaming the weather, it does appear to be somewhat legitimate in this case.

Besides, the trip was worth it because I got to spend the afternoon with good friends, eating all things pumpkin flavored, while Baby babbled race strategy with her future GRC teammates. Sometimes the best part of racing is the post-race.

The future of @grc_running. Getting some early practice in post-race recovery brunching. #armytenmiler #armyten #postrace #brunch #babiesofinstagram #runnerbabies #futurerunners #futurebrunchers #firstnikebib #shovelinthatfood #itshardtotakeaphotoofthreebabies

A post shared by Teal (@runnerteal) on Oct 8, 2017 at 4:50pm PDT

Dream big,
Teal

Race Report: Family Duel II/Broad Street Run 2015

As I’m sure you know by now, last weekend was one of the biggest weekends in sports, highlighted by the Fight of the Century: the Family Duel down Philadelphia’s Broad Street.

 

My strategy was to run 5:55 pace. Everyone kept talking about breaking 60, but I was telling myself I already had, so it was on to bigger goals. If I could manage 5:55 pace for most of it (59:10 for ten miles), maybe I could kick it up a notch at the end and squeeze under 59. In actuality, the goal I set at the beginning of the season was even faster, but seemed a little too crazy of late. My new plan still sounded crazy, but I’m nothing if not overly ambitious. At least I had reined it in a little.

I figured Brother would assume I’d go for 6:00 pace, so a couple miles at 5:55 might take the wind out of his sails. Then I’d be free to coast to a big PR and the family title.

The first mile was right on target: 5:55. Bam. Perfectly according to plan.

Then I noticed Brother wasn’t right next to me, in our bunch that included some teammates and Cousin. He was actually a stride or two ahead. Brother is leading at this pace? Hmmm. That wasn’t the plan.

So I tried to catch up to him, to plant myself right beside him. But every time I did that, he seemed to pick it up to stay one stride ahead. Suddenly we were running 5:52 pace, which was decidedly not my plan. This is fast, too fast for so early in the race. Surely Brother can’t keep this up. Can I keep this up? (I realize three seconds fast may seem like nothing, but when it's a few seconds faster than your intended pace, which was already faster than you've ever run for two miles back-to-back, let alone ten, it's quite intimidating. Which was exactly Brother's intention.)

Being smarter racers, with less family feuding and no championship on the line, the teammates and Cousin dropped back.

I was debating doing that myself. It seemed dumb to keep this up—was I sacrificing a big PR just to beat Brother in this silly duel? I should drop back and focus on running smart. But we were running closer to my crazy early season ambitions than anticipated. Maybe this will turn out better than expected. Letting Brother try to break me might be dumb, but letting him pace me might turn out to be brilliant.

I knew that was highly unlikely, that I only felt good because it was so early, but still—logic be damned—I did not want to be dropped. If I fell back a little, I feared it would turn into falling back a lot, and then who knows what would happen to my PR plans.

So along we went. Me perpetually one step behind, both of us running 5:52 pace, through 5 miles (easily a 5K and 5 mile PR). I can’t believe Brother is keeping this up. (How am I keeping this up?) Surely he has to break soon.

Around City Hall, I tried to run the tangents. (It’s the only spot running the tangents matters, since the course is otherwise a perfectly straight line.) There was a woman near us, so I focused on catching her. And suddenly I had a step or two on Brother.

I tried to solidify the move by sticking with the woman, but she quickly got ahead, and now I was in no man/woman’s land. I didn’t know how far behind Brother was (one stride, ten?) but I tried to keep to our blistering pace.

It didn’t work. You can tell on the splits when I took the lead, because the pace dropped markedly. Maybe I only got the lead because Brother was slowing, but I was slowing right with him.

We got to our family’s cheering section; everyone was so loud I couldn’t make out what they were saying. My sister-in-law tried to tell me what place I was among the women, but I misheard her. I mistakenly thought she said I was in the top ten (a shocking revelation, since I had seen the hoard of incredibly fit women in the elite tent). This race is turning out amazing! I’m beating Brother, I’m doing well in the field, I’m running super fast!

Just before mile 7.
Brother is in the white hat on the left.

Then I saw my dad, who said I was in the top twenty (not ten) and who was also screaming wildly, “BROTHER IS RIGHT ON YOUR TAIL!!!” From my family’s perspective, it looked like Brother might be catching up to me, en route to overtaking me. They had no way of knowing that I had actually just overtaken him.

But he was still right on my tail. And the 7th mile split made me realize how much I was slowing. Damn. This went from amazing to Struggle City pretty fast.  

The next two miles I continued to slow, just like I had at Cherry Blossom. But now I was alone with no one to pull me along. Brother was behind me—who knew how close—so that was pushing me slightly, but not enough. I kept looking at my watch, seeing my pace and thinking, “I need to pick it up.” But there seemed to be some disconnect between my brain and legs, and the pace stayed where it was.

A woman followed by a swarm of men passed and I tried to latch on, but it didn’t work. Where the eff was this finish? We went over a slight hill and then under the photo bridge (Why did that trick me before? It does not look like a finish line) and still I couldn’t see it. Lindsay caught me (told you she was a smarter racer) and encouraged me to go with her. I tried to muster a sprint (Brother could still be on my tail! I can’t lose it now!) and finally made it through the finish.

I finished in 59:24, slower than the pace I had hoped for, but ahead of Brother in the duel. But as I mentioned last week, if I won the duel and didn’t run the time I wanted, I’d be upset. And I was. Not hugely upset; I did run a PR and it was a great day all around. (As another cousin enthusiastically reminded me at the finish line party, “Oh my God, that was SO MUCH FUN!”) But this season’s results aren’t stacking up to my out-of-this-world ambitions, so despite PRs and family duels, I’m left to ponder that.

I think, in the end, Brother pulling me through six miles at the pace he did turned out to be a huge blessing. (Sorry, Bro, your plan backfired.) I'm not sure what pace I could have held by myself. I’ve gotten spoiled with amazing pacers and teammates, and I seem to lose focus whenever I’m alone. In the olden days of RunnerTeal (pre-GRC), I used to always run alone. I was slower then, of course, but I think I need to learn to channel some of that Grind It Out Mojo I used to have and bring it up to speed.

But still. I set a big PR, officially broke 60, and won the championship. Dare I say it? I think I’ve broken the curse.

The New Champion.

Dream big,

Teal

Despite the outlandish amount of smack talk surrounding the Family Duel, the race was actually a really great celebration of family and running. Another great celebration of family and running is the annual Father's Day 8K, an evening race along the Georgetown canal. Sign up today!

A Preview to Family Duel II: The Rematch

Alright, readers, it’s the moment you’ve been waiting for all season: a rematch of the Family Duel. 

A little background to bring everyone up to speed: in 2012, my loving, wonderful older brother decided he wanted nothing more than to beat his little sister in a ten mile race. He did.

Now, three years later, we will meet again on the streets of Philadelphia (well, just the one street really) to duke it out for the title of 10-mile family champion. The stakes are higher. The race has been talked about all over the country (well at least in DC’s best running magazine), the Twittersphere is abuzz, merchandise is being hawked on the streets. (Okay, I made that last one up, but I wouldn’t put it past Brother to sell ‘Beet Teal’ shirts.)

'Beet Teal'
The 2012 Family Duel shirt, designed (and worn) by Brother. 

Let’s size up the competitors:

Brother

The undefeated champion. Two weeks ago he tried to spark some fear in his competition by running a world record in the 5K, but the time was later overturned and ruled as a “chip malfunction.” (The IAAF has decided not to pursue Brother's questionable ethics in this matter, because that’s how they deal with these things.) He has since taken his smack talking to Twitter, in the hopes that rhymes are correlated with times.

For more, check out @Realblakeconnor.
Note the avatar and bio. #obsessed

RunnerTeal

On paper, I have the faster 10 mile PR. (I tried to spark some fear in my competition by running a 56-minute 10 mile at Cherry Blossom, but that backfired when the shortened course was made public.) My downfall could come in the location: I have a 0-7 record for running well in Philadelphia. Ultimately, I’m focused on the marathon and not on petty tune-up races, but still hope to get back at Brother for getting Will Smith stuck in my head all week.

The Dark Horse

Don’t discount Cousin, who could come steal all the glory from the two trash-talking siblings. He’s another Philly native (who beat Brother at last year’s race) so keep your eyes on him.

The whole family after last year's race.
Sometimes we actually like each other.

Truthfully, (as always) I really only care about the time and competition with myself. If I beat Brother, but don’t run the time I want, I’ll be upset. If I lose to Brother, but do run the time I want, I’ll be happy.

But where’s the fun in that? That kind of talk isn’t so exciting to the bettors, the Vegas odds makers, and friends and family watching closely. So back to talking big: I'm going to try to win this one for the little sisters everywhere. 

Who do you have? Join in by leaving your predictions in the comments below. And stay tuned Sunday morning, when it all goes down.

After all, this is certainly the most anticipated matchup of the weekend, if not the century.

Dream big,

Teal

Race Report: Cherry Blossom (Not Quite) Ten Miler

Sometimes even the flattest courses can have lots of ups and downs: moments of hope and of doubt, mental high fives and battles with demons. The Cherry Blossom Ten Miler was one of those races, but—in a weird twist—some of the biggest ups and downs came after the race was over.

An absolutely gorgeous race day.
Photo Credit: Cheryl Young

Because of an accident on race morning, the course had to be rerouted between miles 4 and 6. When the organizers made the announcement before the start, they didn’t know how much distance would be lost; they guessed somewhere between a quarter and half a mile. (Major props to the organizers for how they handled the situation, making last minute changes and still starting on time.)

My goal for the race had been to break 60 minutes. I had never run sub-6:00 pace for any race in my life (5Ks, 10Ks, anything), but I figured (hoped) I was roughly in the shape I was in before Army, where I ran 60:19.

Army went well because I got behind the No Negative Self Talk idea and didn’t berate myself over the pace as I went. But I also had no real goal for Army, and this time the goal was clear: must run 6:00 miles (and at least one 5:59). I worried I’d freak out over the pace (Too fast! Too slow!), especially since splits that start with 5 still seem crazy fast to me. And freaking out is the opposite of No Negative Self Talk.

But then the course got shortened. Setting a PR wasn’t an option anymore; whatever I ran wouldn’t really count. I still wanted to run sub-6:00 pace, but without an official distance it seemed the pressure of hitting that pace exactly was off a bit. Would that be good or bad? I didn’t know.

In another last minute, pacer-sent-from-above moment, Sebi—one of the GRC guys who’s coming back from injury—said he was game to run 6:00s, so we set off together. We hit the first mile a hair fast and the second a hair slow, but by mile 4 we were a couple seconds under 6:00 pace. I was feeling good—which was shocking as my watch kept flashing those seemingly impossible paces that started with 5.

After mile 4, the reroute started. We knew by mile 6 we’d be back on the regular course, but the miles between were no man’s land. Or no pace land, anyway. I consulted my Garmin a bit, but the pace it told me for the 5th mile was so fast I knew it wasn’t accurate. (I go by the mile markers in races, because Garmins can be frustratingly off.) “Mile” 6 was essentially a blip, not an entire mile and no way to know our pace.

But then we were back on course, heading down Hains Point through a canopy of cherry blossoms. It was beautiful, and I felt like I was still in a pretty good spot. I didn’t really know our pace from miles 4-6, but mile 7 was perfect: 5:59. I had to assume we (and by we, I mean Sebi) had kept perfectly on pace.

When we turned around the tip of Hains Point, I started to fall apart a bit. I had been grateful for Sebi’s presence the entire time, but by mile 8, I was indebted to him. Without him I think I would have lost focus or given up, but I just concentrated on sticking by his side.

With Sebi, in the 9th mile.
Photo Credit: Cheryl Young

I assumed we had to still be on pace for a sub-60 equivalent, but really I had no idea. Those lost miles between 4 and 6 started to plague me; we could be ten seconds under or twenty seconds over. And we (and by we, I mean me) were slowing; mile 9 was the slowest yet.

I was possibly risking my sub-60 equivalent, after having felt so great at the beginning of the race. But the reality that it would be a sub-60 equivalent, and not a sub-60 was sinking in. The demons were talking. This doesn’t matter, who cares, it won’t be a PR anyway. Still I wanted proof I could run 6 flats in a race.

I tried to pick it up as we got closer, but it didn’t seem to be working, my legs didn’t seem to be churning. There’s a slight hill up to the finish, so slight it barely makes a blip on the elevation chart. I tell myself that I run hills well in races so I tried to push my way up it and then keep sprinting for the line. But the not-even-a-real-hill took everything out of me; I was barely moving by the top. Once I could see the finish I finally mustered a sprint and made it in 56:16.

But what the heck did that time mean? The effort felt sub-60 worthy, and everyone I complained incessantly to (I just want to know I ran sub-6:00 pace!) agreed that it must have been. (Possibly to shut me up, which is fair enough.)

Later in the day, they announced the course was 9.54 miles. At first I was ecstatic, I surely ran sub-6:00 pace! I didn’t do the exact math right away, but just let myself be thrilled. I had exceeded my expectations. This season is off to an amazing start!

But the next morning, the 9.54 distance seemed questionable for a couple of reasons: 1. My Garmin said 9.49 and it always overestimates distance. 2. That distance would mean I averaged 5:54 pace, but there was no way I picked it up in the last mile enough to do that. In fact, I was pretty sure I hadn’t picked it up at all. Could I have run miles 4-6 crazy fast? (Was my Garmin split for mile 5 correct?!) It seemed unlikely.

And it was. By Tuesday, they had officially re-measured the course as 9.39 miles. I ran the equivalent of 59:57, aka extraordinarily close to missing sub-60. I wonder what would have happened if it had been a full ten miles. I would have had to run over half a mile farther in a race where I was struggling in the end, but, ironically, I think the full distance would have helped. If I had been calculating splits in my head or had seen the clock at 59:XX, I have to believe I would have dug a little deeper in the last mile, knowing how close I was to missing my goal. The demons would have still been out, but I would have had more ammo to silence them.

It turns out that I did what I wanted to do: I ran a race at sub-6 minute pace for the first time in my life. But this week has been so up and down (OMG, I’m in better shape than I thought! Oh wait, no I’m not…), now I’m no longer satisfied with that. Remember that glorious, fleeting moment when I “ran” 5:54 pace? Yea, that was nice. Ah well, next time. [Shoves more fuel in the fire.]

GRC Women post race.

Dream big,

Teal