Folly or Feasible?

So yes ... to answer the question, it is feasible.

I did it. I ran a half marathon. Well, I finished one. Ran most of it. Ran slowly, but I. DID. IT. And have the pretty shiny hardware to prove it.

That was almost a year ago. Then came the folly.

I quit running.

And now it's time to start. Again.

Not only was this my first 5K, it was my first experience with a small (small) race.

The good thing about a race through your neighborhood is that you can walk to the start. At least, it’s good until the weather turns cold and you start obsessing about just what you’re going to wear and, more importantly, what you’re going to do with what-you-want-to-wear-while- standing-around-but-don’t-want-to-wear-while-running.

This was actually a bigger stressor than I ever expected. I seriously considered driving at one point, until I reminded myself just how very stupid that would be.

I decided on sweat pants and a sweat shirt over my running gear. Then I decided no sweats, my legs would have to be cold, and I could throw the sweatshirt in my front yard on the way by. As it turns out, I could have just left it at the start with no problems, but being used to huge races that don’t loop, I wasn’t even thinking about it. My recent resurgence of sinus troubles made me leery of breathing the cold air (at least for the first mile, until the gasping set in), so I borrowed Boo’s buff, figuring it could do double duty of keeping the ears warm and covering my mouth.

I opted not to run with my iPod. Figured I could tough it out for three miles.

My husband and WP were leaving town early Saturday morning; Boo and Kitty had strict instructions that their job was to cheer for me when I passed the house. Friday night, however, Boo offered to come with me and hang out in the coffee shop while she waited for me, so she became my official sherpa/photographer.

They were setting up the finish line when we arrived. At the bottom of a steep parking ramp. Great. More uphill running at the end.

Last year there were 100 participants; I don’t know exactly how many were there this year, but I’m guessing closer to 50. I got my number, then Boo and I hung out people-watching until it was time to line up. We saw a few strollers, a couple of people with dogs, and a lot of serious looking runners. I made my pick for top female finisher, and Boo told me later that I was right.

The start line was down and around to the side of the parking deck.

Are you walking? someone asked me as we lined up.
No, but as slowly as I run I might as well be.

I was stupidly grateful to realize that there were walkers.

My race strategy was to go easy for the first mile, which starts flat but is mostly rolling hills, push it on the second mile, which is flat and easy, and then just do what I could on the third, which has several uphill stretches.

I took off entirely too fast, instinctively trying to keep up with the herd. Fortunately, I realized my mistake almost immediately and forced myself to slow down, watching them pull away as I was passed by a man pushing a stroller.

My mantra for the event became, Run your own race.

Which didn’t stop me from being happy to pass a woman who’d gone out too quickly then began walking within the first half mile. (That was me during the Peachtree.)

I was already missing my iPod.

Somewhere around there I caught up with a woman pushing a stroller. We were on an uphill and I didn’t actually pass her, so she sped up. This happened a couple of times … I didn’t see the point in wasting energy just to get by her, but she clearly wanted to stay ahead of me.

Run my own race.

I spotted my fence but couldn’t see Kitty. Just as I was going by, the front door opened and she brought the dog out. The big, ill-behaved dog that she can barely control when he’s not determined to see me or finally able to get closer to all those other people he’s been watching go by.

Take him inside! I yelled, wasting valuable breath and feeling stressed rather than encouraged by her presence. So much for my cheering section.

I made the turn at the second mile and started running faster. I had my sleeves down over my Garmin, and even though I’d pushed one up now that I was warmer, I made sure to keep the other over the display. Ignorance is bliss.

I passed a couple who was now walking that I’d noticed much earlier, thinking then that even though they were now walking they were so far ahead they’d still beat me. Nope.

Caught up to a guy Boo and I’d noticed earlier, who was wearing a shirt from the Bison Stampede 5K she’d done earlier in the month. I passed him, then he pulled up even, I pulled ahead … we kept it up for about five minutes until I finally pulled away for good. He didn’t bother me, but I was curious if he was pacing off me (now THAT’s a scary thought) or if I was just really bad at keeping my pace steady (which wouldn’t surprise me).

Run my own race.

(Boo’s self-portrait while waiting in the coffee shop.)

The second mile went by fairly quickly and painlessly. I was definitely warmed up, although my arms still felt a bit chilled. I put the buff around my wrist instead of my head. Re-did my ponytail. Pulled out a kleenex and tucked it in my sleeve. Adjusted whatever else needed adjusting, all of which was really more of an effort to keep my mind off the running.

Because I’m an awful judge of pace, it was tempting to see where I stood when I entered the third mile, but I didn’t look. It wouldn’t have helped — I wasn’t going to be able to make up anything significant if I were off my 40-minute goal — but it certainly could demoralize me.

Besides, if I wanted to be demoralized I had those hills coming up.

They were … everything I expected them to be. I had a long talk with myself in which I pointed out that these were not actually “hills”; I had done hills in the US10K Classic and these, m’am, were no hills. My lungs ignored the pep talk and my gasping got very audible, despite attempts to even out my breathing. My only real strategy for these situations is don’t look. Fixating on a mailbox or lamp-post at the top can be a motivating goal for many people, I know, but for me it’s just like looking at a mirage in the desert —so appealing yet never getting any closer. Eyes down, one foot in front of the other, and just keep going.

I was close to one woman who would end up finishing before me, but I was pleased to note that she walked the hills and I didn’t.

At which point I reminded myself to run my own race.

My co-worker’s house was dark and quiet. I gotta pick better cheerleaders.

A volunteer directed us to the last turn. “It’s mostly downhills from here,” he encouraged.
I pointed, eyebrows raised, to the clearly visible hill shortly after the turn.
“That’s just a little hill,” he insisted.
Clearly he hasn’t met me.

But, I knew he was right, that it was just a little hill, but I also knew that it was hiding an even bigger one. Why do you think I never run that street? My legs weren’t overly tired, but my lungs were about over the constant uphill, and cresting that last hill was as close to stopping as I came. Didn’t, though. Barreled down the other side, past an older guy who’d been ahead of me from the start, around the corner and toward the finish.

I could see the timer at 36:50. Having beat my goal by so much didn’t register yet; my only thought was just getting to it before many more seconds ticked away.

As I ran up the ramp I struggled to rip off the bottom of my number. A volunteer handed me a card, pointing toward the table at the top. As I started filling it in, I noticed it had a place for time. Panicked. Looked at the woman manning the table.

Was I supposed to have looked? I saw it turn over 37 … I’m just gonna write 37:15.

She shrugged, told me that was fine.

And that’s how my “official time” for this 5K came to be 37:15. (Note to self: in small races you need to pay attention to these things. That lack of a D-chip might have been a clue…)

I put the card in the slot for 40-44 Female and turned around to find Boo beside me.

You’re the only one in there!
Does that mean I’m the first one?
Yeah it does!

I grabbed some post-race sustenance while Boo pointed out runners and told me how they’d finished and other stories from her solo people-watching. We  chatted with the man in the Bison Stampede shirt. Turns out it was from last year’s race, that he’d done a different 5K that weekend this year. He told us this was his 53rd 5K, that he’s been running since 2007, has done lots of 10K’s and a few half-marathons, as well, and that he’s lost over 100 lbs. since he started. Nice guy, very inspirational.

We hung around while the last participants came in, then they gathered us down near the coffee shop to do the awards. A lot of people had left, but, by golly, if Boo thought I was going to get an award, I was gonna stand there and shiver until I found out for sure!

I did, indeed, come in first in the 40-44 year old female group. I really don’t think anyone else was in it, but one of the walkers might have been. I wish I’d been paying better attention, because they announced my overall place, but I didn’t notice. And I care about that really only because I’m still trying to figure out how many people actually participated. Boo and I cheered for everyone (who was still there) then started walking home.

At which point I began texting everyone I knew that I’d placed first in my age group.

When reading about training runs, the general advice for an easy run seems to be 1-2 minutes slower than your 5K race pace. Which, until now, has meant absolutely nothing to me.

My goal for my first 5K was to break 40 minutes. My pace lately has been averaging a little under 14 minutes per mile, so I figured with a little pushing, 13 mm ought to be doable.

My final time was 37:15. Woo hoo! I couldn’t wait to get home and download my Garmin to see how the splits worked out.

What does it mean?

• I can run faster for 3 miles than I think I can.
• Going out conservatively is a good plan, even if I wasn’t as conservative as I’d intended.
• My long runs are apparently at the proper pace.
• I should probably be pushing a little harder on the short runs.
• Hills may not be fun, but clearly they are doable.
• Not looking at my Garmin at all during the race was an excellent plan.
• I can do well in races where nobody else in my age group shows up.

The Good:

• Did 14 miles overall.
• Met my goal to run 4 miles on Wednesday, despite it being a chilly, drizzly day.
• Got my iPod charged (and did it before the four-mile run).
• Joined the YMCA. Had a meeting with a trainer to get set up on the weight machines.
• Beat my time goal of 40 minutes in my first 5K.

The Bad:

• I haven’t yet cancelled my membership to my old gym. Which makes my Y membership very, very expensive until I do.
• I didn’t make an appointment for my knee. I did get the name of a good doctor to call, but didn’t actually do it. Knee is feeling better, though, so it’s easier to ignore. Not smart, just easier.
• I didn’t do my planned Thursday run, but did (mostly) make up for it Friday.
• Sitting on cold concrete bleachers after a run and before a 5K isn’t the best plan. My hip was better by morning, but I had a very achy night that made me wonder how it would be for running.

The Ugly:

• I had a major sinus headache on Friday and an increase in my coughing. Considering that I’m still on antibiotics for the staph infection, I don’t consider that break-through a good sign at all. I go back on Wednesday for a follow-up, so I’m guessing they’ll scrape my brain with a Q-tip again for a new culture.

Goals for the Upcoming Week:

• Cancel gym membership. Seriously.
• Time management. We have company coming for the weekend, so that Friday workout will have to be done before work (YUCK!), and I’ll have to not drink too much Friday night considering Saturday’s run.

Training Plan for the Week: