A year ago, I stood injured and unable to start a race for the first time of my short career, the Park 2 Park Half Marathon. It was my first race designated cheerleader and spectator, not runner. There's nothing easy about running thirteen point one miles, but being forced to watch, taught me watching was WAY more difficult. That was my first taste and hopefully the last of being injured. This year, CT is only a couple days from getting surgery, so it should be obvious she's not running. It's a catch twenty-two, she wants to watch and support me, but at the same time I remember how awful it felt to watch and not being able to run. There's really no way that I'd be able to talk her out of it, so here we go.
I like to think that deep down I believe in logic, things that make sense over the supernatural. Sure, I've got a couple of my pre-race superstitions, but I'd like to think I do them more for repetition and comfort than believing they'll magically help me. Driving to the race, both CT and I watched this amazingly bright shooting star come streaking towards the ground. I asked if she made a wish, she did. I did too, but mine was in fun, not because I believe it would come true, logic, right?
Marathon training is winding down. Last week was the last (and my first) twenty miler of the season. Needless to say, my miles are down and that was evident because I struggled towards the end. That has brought me to the conclusion that next month's marathon is going to run strictly for fun and I won't be trying to set any PR's. Today's run is suppose to be a pace run, so I figured might as well do a half marathon, especially since I missed this race last year. Since I'm not planning on running the marathon fast, I figured today I'd run today's race at the pace I'd like to be able to run a marathon at someday. That pace would put me at about a 1:42 finish. Not close to my PR time for a half, but I think a very respectable time. Well, I thought it was respectable, until I verbalized out loud to CT what time I was planning on. You would have thought I served her the sourest drink in the world, while kicking her bad leg, with the face she made. It was truly awful! She then informed me that if I ran a 1:35, she'd buy me a Big Mac. A 1:35?! Keep in mind my PR is a 1:36 and that day the stars aligned. Ridiculous! I haven't come close to running that fast in a while and even then, not for a half. She is out of her mind!
I was still in shock as I wandered up to the starting line. 1:35? That is so damn ridiculous, where did she pull that number from? No way I'm getting a Big Mac today. "You sandbagging it today?", as I get knocked out of my stupor. That's the comment I got from a guy who typically runs with the local run groups. Sheesh, rough crowd today, simply because I lined up behind the eight minute pace group! Sandbagging and 1:35?What's next?
Whoosh (my impression of a shooting star sound), goes the gun. They changed the course and venue this year and it just so happens that about a mile out is the apex of the race with there being a spot where we cross three times in the race as course makes somewhat of a figure eight. I had CT head there, so she could watch and dare I say support. Sure enough, I can see her in the distance coming on on the first mile. I also notice a running friend who happens to be a Gazelle just ahead of me. First thing out of CT's mouth, "Don't let her beat you!". As if a 1:35 wasn't a tall enough task, now I had this added pressure added.
It was nice to have a familiar face to run with, even if it did mean going faster than I wanted. The first mile clocked in close to "my" projected finish time. Mile two, right about my PR pace. Uggh, should I really be doing this? The miles did seem fairly easy and I didn't feel like I was pushing too hard, so I figured just go with it and see what happens. Mile three, still at PR pace. Mile four, there's CT again. The Gazelle decided to ditch her first layer, I debated, but ultimately decided if I were going to attempt to keep up with this Gazelle, I better take mine off as well. CT became a gear check station as clothing went flying towards her. Mile four, even faster than PR pace! Is that right?
At this point, I had to smile a little as the Gazelle now began pointing out people who she was planning on catching. Hmm, that sounds like somebody else I know. Mile five is in the books and WTF is wrong with my watch, it just said I did an under seven minute mile? Mile six, again under seven. I've never clocked under seven minute miles in ANY of my long races. Oh man, I'm in some serious trouble because eventually running this fast is going to catch up with me and I'll be sorry. I can't slow down though, team Gazelle is rocking. The Gazelle runs the place, I support the place with all the gear I buy! Teamwork! Seven, under seven. Eight, at seven, and it's only there because of hitting a water stop. This is crazy!
At this point, I was honestly really starting to get worried. I haven't run close to this fast for this long in a while. I figured the end was moments away at any point. Then I noticed the Gazelle started to fidget with her shirt and bib more. Did she push too hard and her were her wheels coming off? Mile nine, it finally started to feel like work. Between nine and ten, I could tell maintaining this pace wasn't going to happen. I figured I'd attempt to make it to ten, then I'd free the Gazelle and let her finish at her own pace without me holding her back. At ten, I told her this and decided I wasn't going to try to hang with her, but I also wouldn't take my foot of the gas either, maintain. Mile eleven, not under seven, but still better than PR pace. Twelve, still better. At this point I was involved with runner math in my head. I figured I'd have my PR, but wasn't sure if I'd pull off the Big Mac.
It wasn't until the last mile finally clicked on my watch, that it sunk in that I could fall apart and run an easy pace mile and still get a 1:35. Things were starting to get sore and tired. It was great seeing CT on the final stretch to the finish line. It was even better seeing her at the finish line standing next to the clock with a 1:33 on it! Holy Sh*t! Or should I say Holy Big Mac?
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be able to pull a run off like this. Makes me wonder what CT wished for with that shooting star.
