I've said it before, and I'll say it again...In my
next life, I am going to be a weather forecaster. It is one of the only
jobs in which you can be WRONG 75+% of the time and still have a job.
The Shamrock forecast during the week was 46 degrees and 9-mph winds.
For a coastal race, those winds are manageable. However, race morning,
as I walked from our hotel to the start line, I dropped my first of many
f-bombs for the day. The winds were closer to 20-mph sustained and
gusting even faster. Lucky for me though, once the gun went off, I was
mentally ready to kick anything's a$$. Nothing was going to stop me
from my 3:05 goal...
During
the final weeks of training, I felt great. I ran the Yasso 800's at a
2:54 average, and on my final long-ish run of 12 miles, the first nine
were at goal race pace before comfortably dropping the final three at 6:27
pace. Physically, I was ready. I was starting to get nervous but kept
myself in check. At work one day, a customer asked me when I ran
my 3:06 PR, and when I said 2009, she replied, "Oh. Well that was a
long time ago now." ...just the comment I needed to get mentally fired
up as well. Bring it, Shamrock!
My
gluts and calves started to flare over the final two weeks of training,
but I kept telling myself that I am accustomed to handling these
"problem" areas now. I went for an extra deep tissue massage to loosen
up my tight a$$, took an ice bath (awful), and told Mike to slap me every
time I allowed these aches to get into my head. Okay, Mike didn't
really slap me. Really, that was a joke. Don't call the cops.
Good times
Oh
yeah, and I also learned something new. Actually, no, I didn't learn
something new; I simply did something really stupid. After developing
calluses on both feet, I thought it
would be, um, smart to buy medicated callus removers. So, five days before the race, I put four
of them on for 24 hours, and bam! When I took them off, here was the
result:
Medicated
callus removers = Worst. Purchase. Ever. I quickly drained the
blisters, neosporined (that is totally a verb) the crappers out of them,
and tried to stop staring at what looked like four UFOs crash landing
on my feet. I officially had the funkiest-looking feet in the world.
Mmk,
Friday morning. Decided to weigh myself. Dumb. I was a few pounds
light. See now, I think I am odd. Whereas most women would be like,
"WOOHOO! I lost weight!", I was like, "CRAP! I lost strength!" Mike
and I planned to leave for Virginia Beach that day around 3pm, but our
new post-weigh-in plan was to stop in Durham along the way at a
brewery. Yep, two nights before the marathon, and I was eating a
cheeseburger and quesadillas. What better way to regain strength than with a
big ol' protein-y burger. Hey, at least I refrained from the wine...
On
Saturday, we watched the 8K right below our oceanfront balcony window,
and I got those excited jitters in my tummy. After grabbing my number
at the expo, we were off to an Italian dinner with Mike's parents, who
trekked down from Philly to watch me run. We had just gotten our check
when I decided I was still hungry; therefore, I ordered pasta meal
number two. Yep, I am pretty sure my weight and strength were back in full force. Nom nom! Or perhaps, oink oink.
Race
morning. I body-glided my UFOs for about six hours, foam-rolled my a$$
for another four hours, peed 34 times, and was ready to run. I decided
to race in compression sleeves for the first time too. No, I did not
wear them because "OMG! Look at how my pink socks match my pink and
blue polka-dotted shirt!" They helped keep my calves in check during
training, so if they would help today, I was all for it.
Man,
was it windy. I made my way to the start area, which felt like a wind tunnel. The highlight of
my morning? I was the FIRST person to use one of the porta-potties.
Yep, there was nothing in the toilet, and the TP was still wrapped in
paper. I felt so honored that I even forgot about the wind for a little
while. When I got back in line to pee for the 87th time, a fellow
runner asked me why I was so excited. When I told her, she stared at my
face for a few seconds and then stopped talking to me.
I navigated my way to the start line and chatted with the 3:05 pacers, Danny
and Tom. They said they went for a warmup into the headwinds, concluding that
the effort was going to be about 15-20 seconds harder today. Therefore, if we were running 7:00 pace into the wind, it would feel like we were running 6:40-6:45 pace. Well, crappers! We would hit a 10-mile stretch into the wind beginning at mile six, so their goal was
to bank time in the first few miles and start at 6:45 pace. Yikes.
Hearing that and looking around at all the in-shape men I was lined up
with started to intimidate me, but then I reminded myself how well my
training had gone, and I knew I belonged there. F-yeah, I belonged
there! There was a guy from DC lined up next to me saying he was going
for a 3:05, but his previous PR was a 3:24. My gut reaction was, "Holy
Moses, now that's a goal!" to which he also stopped talking
to me. WTF? Perhaps he was really religious? Whatever it was, I
certainly wasn't making any friends today. Right as the national
anthem concluded, I wished him luck anyway and asked him his name, to which he
responded, "Moses". Ahhh. Got it.
Brr
The
gun went off, and I let Danny and Tom go as I settled into my own,
comfortable rhythm. Mile one = 6:53. I looked up, and Danny and Tom were
right there, so from this point forward, I latched onto the group. We
had about 10-15 men and two women, myself included, which in the later miles would become much smaller. Miles two through four averaged 6:58, and I was feeling extremely easy.
The five-mile marker was waaaaay off, and Danny and Tom were actually
pretty annoyed, asking officials along the route what the deal was. It
was a full tenth of a mile long according to both their GPS watches (and
since we were running in a straight line at that point, the tangents
did not come into play). Therefore, moving forward (no pun intended), I
decided to run by feel and not check my watch. At mile six, we hit the
first turn-around, and WHOOSH! Hi, wind. This is where being a shawty
like me helps. I started playing connect the dots, with Danny and Tom
being the dots, and me following in erratic lines to stay right behind
them.
After running
through what felt like a maze (Camp Pendleton), we went back over a
bridge and hit the boardwalk for almost two miles, where the wind was
just dumb. I have no other word for it. Dumb. A few more f-bombs went
through my head, but in the, "you ain't got nuttin' on me, wind!" kind
of way. I did not look at the ocean because I knew if I did, I would
see the waves and let the wind get the best of me, so I just did my best
to keep connecting the dots. Down the boardwalk, I saw Mike, Ginny,
and Charlie and gave them a fist-pump. I was feeling relaxed and
STRONG.
Fist pumpin' as we leave the boardwalk at mile 12
We
passed the half-marathon mark in 1:32:02. My gluts and calves were
doing okay, but I was forming new blisters on top of my old blisters,
but again, I didn't care; I could deal with that. Even though we were
still running into headwinds, we picked up the pace. In looking back at splits post-race, we had a four-mile stretch here that averaged
6:38 pace. I'm not sure if we were actually running THIS fast or if
this was where the course made up for the earlier mile that was long,
but regardless, it was definitely a faster pace. At mile 16, I could
feel some fatigue setting in, most likely due to the increased pace and
having run so long into the wind. Danny and Tom decided to scale the
pace back since we got ahead of ourselves, and this is where I decided to go. I was in a groove; I didn't want to suddenly pull back. Miles
16-19 had a tailwind, which was nice, but I kept wondering if I was
going too fast too soon. I made sure to take my tangents along Shore
Drive and dropped two sub-6:50's in a row, but when I made the turn at
mile-19, I was right back into the wind. Sh*t got hard here, ha! I
took my final gu, and within a mile, I knew I had my PR; I was tired but
still strong. When a blood blister popped at mile 22, I about tripped
over myself, but meh...four miles with a little blood never hurt a
marathon runner! At mile 23, I was out of the winds, but by mile 24, my
quads were pretty tired. Two miles to go...whatever, quads.
Mile 22 foot carnage, five days post-race
Note to self: If windy, wear braids!
Once
I rounded the turn back onto the boardwalk, I could see the finish
line. My second half passed in 1:30:57, a negative split, and I reached home in 3:02:59.
I started getting choked up as I walked my way out to find Mike. I
think the emotions of the past year started settling in. Then I
realized what a goober I must look like, so I wiped my nasty face on the
not-so-nasty finisher blanket they gave us. Nice touch! ...the
blankets; not my snot.
I
finished as eighth woman overall, and having only been seven minutes
off the second Ethiopian and 1:19 off the money (top five), I was pretty
stoked (albeit a little frustrated to have been that close!). Top-10
was in the back of my head before the race, and I ended up winning my
age group, which I was happy with too. Also adding to the weekend
awesomeness were my Streakers. Of the 26 racing at Shamrock or other races that day, 25 had
PR's. Simply amazing. With the out-and-back layout of the Shamrock course, it
was awesome being able to see and cheer for those doing the marathon.
By
3pm, I was eating a burrito and taking a shot of Bailey's. By 5pm, I
was drinking wine and eating M&M's. By 7pm, I got my burger and a
frozen margarita because, well, that was quenching my thirst better than
wine. By 9pm, I was back in the hotel drinking wine again with Ginny and Holly,
my friend and coworker that had run a PR in the half-marathon that day.
Yep, all the proper post-race recovery techniques were in-tact.
This
race gave me the confidence boost I need to go sub-3. Given how easy
the first half felt, I keep wondering if I could have done it here, but I
could be wrong. No looking back regardless; I am happy with my race
but extremely curious with how good I felt. Marathoning is so much
about balance. Am I going out too slow? Am I going out too fast? There will be more marathons to test it out.
Thanks for the fun and PR, Virginia Beach! Not sure what my next adventure will be, but for now, I'm just gonna keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Happy Running!
