Original posting date: 11/10/2014
I decreased my high-volume training and tapered for this?? Just shoot me now.
READ THE CAVEATS!
** Caveat #1: if you are allergic or offended by language, I suggest that you quit reading now. Otherwise, enjoy my tale of embracing of the suck that is my body.
** Caveat #2: This is not a pity-party rant. I am not looking for sympathy, atta-boys, etc.; I don't need them. It is only the ugly truth and how/why it disgusts me. You are more than welcome to leave a nice comment, but please know that it is NOT my intent to be an "attention whore".
** Caveat #3: From this point forward, if I hear anyone tell me (I get this a LOT) "I'd like to run but, ..", mark my words: I WILL immediately tell them to go fuck themselves. The key to this is the "lame ass excuse" part. Legitimate reason? Yes, I can empathize and sympathize. I'm tired of being PC when it comes to lame excuses.
If you've made it through these expletives, I hope you enjoy my suck story. Again..
If my feelings about this past Saturday's race could be summed up in two words, they would be: fucking disgusted.
11/08/14: The Huntsville Half Marathon, Huntsville, AL
- Realistic goal time: Sub 1:40:00
- Personal target time: 1:38:30'ish
- Official Gun Time: 1:47:07 (Grr..)
- Official Chip Time: N/A -- Chip timing system BROKE (WTF?? Grr..)
- OA Placement: 128 / 846 (Grr..)
- AG Placement: 15 / 50 (Grr.. you get the idea)
Official results (GUN time only):
Strava activity:
Lessons learned:
- My body never ceases to find new and improved ways to fuck me -- regardless of training, preparation, or best laid plans.
- Bring my own hand-held bottle next time. Volunteers were nice, but the Gatorade to water ratio was 3:1 -- so I got no water on two stops and I cannot drink Gatorade at race pace.
This was a "goal" race for me. At this time, running a 13.1 is just another day in the office in my training schedule. This is no secret and is FAR from uncommon. The difference is that I NEVER run for time on a training run. Ever. I may need to make an exception to this so I can assess what my realistic marathon pace for December will be.
Regardless, this half marathon was a goal race because it marked my official on-road HM debut. My goals were to:
- Prove to my family that any time lost with them has not been in vain (I have not missed much time with them, but you understand my point)
- Prove to myself that all of my hard damn work has paid off
- Establish a good, respectable, and official HM PR after my return to running 8 months ago.
- Find my true potential to help me assemble a realistic 26.2 strategy for December
The TL;DR is that almost every goal pretty much went to hell.
When I arrived at Hillwood Baptist church (the event host), I felt pretty good. I got good sleep, my muscles were well rested, I was hydrated nicely, and had my normal breakfast; everything was prime for an awesome race day and kicking my goals in the balls. It was 34 degrees outside and I had layered appropriately. The projected temperature was not much higher at my anticipated finish time, but I layered for worst case scenario and would strip off layers pre-race as needed.
I started my normal warmup routine and was going through my final gear checks before tagging up with Stan and the opportunity to meet his wife Jenn for the first time. It was cool to meet Jenn in person and she was very nice -- thank you again for holding on to my beanie for me!
Me and Stan before the race (we're actually the same height)
Waiting in the starting corral
I also ran into an old friend and coworker of mine (Dr. Ken) from my radar analysis days while keeping warm. It was damn good to see him again. At the call for line up, Stan and I started moving into position and to my surprise, Dr. Ken was directly to my left! Cool!
Why was it so cool to see Dr. Ken again? Because he is a 58 year old running veteran who has ran Boston more times than I could fathom. When I asked him what his target was for the race, it was way too close to my 1:40 goal. He wasn't worried about time at all because he's already earned his BQ this year. And of course, he didn't have a problem with us running together and pacing each other :).
After the gun went off, Ken and I stuck together like glue having random conversation -- even at 7'30"ish pace. We had decided to target sub 1:40 together and slowly negative-split the finish from the turnaround at mile 8. Around the second mile, I looked to my right and saw Stan speeding up on a downhill section as he passed both of us. I resisted the urge to speed up, stuck to my plan with Dr. Ken, and saved the energy for the last 5. I felt great. Together, Ken and I split the first three miles at 7'24", 7'27", and 7'30". Granted, it was a little faster than planned, but we were trying to get out of the pack. This would allow us to choose our lines wisely and avoid lateral movement.
Mile 4 slowed us down a good bit between a botched water stop and and an uphill section on the route. It wasn't too bad, but we split this mile at 7'42". That's okay though.. this still isn't bad time and we could take advantage of an upcoming downhill section and conserve energy at the same time. I wasn't worried too much about it. This lead to us splitting miles 5 and 6 at 7'28" and 7'38" respectively. We were still on track for our plan.
Mile 7 took us to the Aldridge Creek Greenway -- an nice flat out and back that would allow us to maintain a great pace and the optimal place to start our negative split on the way back. On entering the Greenway, I still felt awesome and gave the photographer a nice thumbs up pose for the camera :). Little did I know what was about to happen.
Close to the end of mile 7, I had to tell Ken to keep going without me. The weather had already gotten much hotter than projected and it did it QUICKLY. This is the worst thing for both my arthritis and my back. It had been acting up slightly for a short time, but it wasn't that bad. I knew enough by experience that if I didn't slow my pace a little, I would be in full lockdown. Very soon. Sonofabitch!! My plan is most likely completely hosed now. I ended up splitting the next three miles at 7'51", 7'53", and 7'53". It is still nice and consistent enough.. I'll take it, I guess. UNTIL..
About 100 meters later. The lockdown process has begun. You've GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME.
I would actually rather report that I had done something stupid and hit the wall or had an EPIC BONK. But no -- that was not the case. EVERY part of me felt great, fresh, and loose.. Except for my back. If you look at the activity graph, you'll see that this is where I had to start intervaling myself back in. My plan is officially hosed. 1:40 is impossible. I tried every physical and mental trick I could, but my back laughed, bitch-slapped me again, and told me (even out loud a couple of times): "Nah bitch! You're walking!". When this happens, there is literally no way I can continue running until my back lets me.
The only hope that I had left was that my back quit this and let up completely in time for me to turn on the kick of a lifetime.
Any hope I had was completely shattered at the 11th mile. At this point, my back was still hosed and I would have to run the final 2.1 miles in 13'30". It could not possibly happen. This moment has been the only time I have ever considered quitting a race and accepting a DNF. This briefly subsided after I kicked my own ass for even thinking about it and I committed to finish the race -- even if I had to crawl to do it.
I have no shame in saying that in the 11th mile, I was also glad that I wore sunglasses. I can probably count on one hand how many times I've actually shed a tear about ANYTHING over the past 15+ years. This disappointment actually added one to the list. I know it seems stupid, but I couldn't help it. I've worked my ass off to earn it and my chance is being taken away.
Mile 12, 13, and 13.1 brought insult to injury. I got "old-guyed", "fatted", "chicked", you name it. I didn't care about them passing me at all. I was ecstatic for them. But, every time someone passed, they were shouting "C'mon! C'mon! You can do it!" to me.. I know they had the best intentions and were trying to be encouraging, but it was more insulting to me at the time. They have no clue about my medical issues, my pain levels, and what I was going through at that moment. 99% of the general population has no clue. I wanted to tell them to go play "hide-and-go-fuck-yourself", but I refrained. I simply told them thank you and wished them all luck.. I cannot take my disappointment out on everyone else.
When I crossed the finish line, I started going through the motions so I could get the hell out of there as fast as I could. I didn't want to stay. I didn't want to see my time. Or placement. Or anything. I already knew it sucked. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. The only reason I knew my time is because Stan texted it to me.
I got home (very slowly), soaked in a scalding hot bath for about 90 minutes to try and get the back loose and spent the rest of the day flat on my back in bed. It sucked. It wasn't until very late in the evening that I could move worth a damn.
Hopefully after reading this (or by reading my very first post), you will understand why I will start telling people to go fuck themselves if I hear some lame excuse. I'm personally surprised that I haven't said it already. A lot of people don't understand what they have. What they're wasting. Or that someone else would kill to have their abilities again. Most people cannot appreciate it -- they haven't lost the ability to do something yet. I admit it -- I *was* the same way 10 years ago.
All of that being said, this weekend is going to be interesting to say the least. The Grand Slam begins this Saturday with a 50k/40M/50M trail race. Between now and then, I have a few ideas to experiment with to try and prevent (or minimize) the flare ups, so we'll see how well they work. I'm trying my best to be optimistic, but if you recall, I am not an optimist :). We'll find out Saturday!
Until then, happy racing!
-Randall
No comments :
Post a Comment