jeffreypratt (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} jeffreypratt) wrote,@ 2007-07-09 09:24:00 |
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| Entry tags: | exercise, half marathon, running |
The Day After - now, the story can be told.
I'm not nearly as sore as I expected to be after my first half marathon. I'm definitely tight and stiff, though, and my left IT band is super-tender around my knee, but it isn't anything that Advil and a trip to the swimming pool won't fix.
The official results: I finished in 2:50:53 (a 13:03 minute/mile pace). I finished in 1245th place overall (out of 1613, including half marathon walkers), 61/65 in my age group, and 555/628 in my gender.
I'm very proud of these results--it is exactly what I set out to do, and having accomplished those goals without training properly is all the more satisfying. Unfortunately, now, there is a nagging little voice in my head asking how well I could do if I did train properly...
Play-by-play after the jump.
I spent all day Saturday reading various training blogs and hearing horror stories, and the common advice seems to be, "Do NOT do anything new on race day." This makes sense. Race day is not the time to try a new routine, new shoes, new shirt, etc. So I got up at 5:00 AM and had my usual breakfast of oatmeal and coffee. I did, however, add a new wrinkle to my running outfit--Bodyglide, to prevent chafing in my, er, nether regions and around my torso where the heart rate monitor sits. I decided not to wear a fancy running shirt in favor of the torn-up old t-shirt that I've been wearing on all of my training runs. Race day is not the time to try anything new.
We drove to Bellevue and arrived at 6:20. We spent a few minutes wandering around trying to figure out where the start/finish lines were. At 6:45, I got in line for the Honey Buckets and tried to relax. At 7:05, I was still in line, and starting to get nervous about missing the start. A woman with a bullhorn was walking through the toilet lines, yelling at everyone to get to the starting line NOW and not to worry because there were Honey Buckets all over the course. The guy in line behind me asked, "What is going to feel better? Getting to the finish line or getting to the toilet?" I voted for the toilet. Clearly, I had no idea what lay ahead.
I made it to the start line right at 7:15, so there was minimal standing around before the gun sounded. I worked my way to the back of the crowd with the slowpokes. A woman's voice boomed over the loudspeaker with two bits of advice: 1) start slow, finish fast, and 2) drink water before you feel thirsty. I rolled my eyes, but "start slow, finish fast" proved to be something of a mantra for me during the first 4-5 miles.
Start! The gun sounded and the crowd started inching forward, breaking into a trot as we ran over the mats and our timing chips beeped. There was a lot of clapping and cheering.
Miles 1-3: Start slow, finish fast. I could see the big crowd of runners in front of me as I trotted along and my watch said I was just above a 12:00 mile pace--perfect. I worked to hold myself back from running faster. As we turned the corner onto 116th, a bicyclist was cheering us on by shouting, "That's it--that's the last hill, you guys!" The cop in the intersection shot him an angry look. "Are you on crack?" asked the cop. Then, to us, the cop shouted, "Don't listen to this idiot." For some reason, we all cheered again.
A dude wearing an Army t-shirt passed us just before the first water stop and everybody cheered "Go Army!" as he passed. I traded places with him and his female cohort for several miles before moving ahead of them for good around mile 5.
The "band" at the corner of Northup Way was actually some hippie with a guitar who had camped out overnight in his van to entertain us. I couldn't help but laugh.
Miles 3-4: I kept trading places with an old lady who would walk for awhile, then sprint, then walk, then sprint--the exact opposite of my "slow and steady" strategy. It was a weird feeling to see her blow past me at a full sprint, only to pass her again a few minutes later. I thought about finishing at the same time as her and this proved motivating. I did not see her again after mile 5.
Miles 4-6: This is the slow burn up 140th. I could not believe how long this climb took. When I turned at the mile 6 marker, I was tired from running up the hill and I realized that I was not quite halfway done. My time at that point was 1:17 and I had stayed within a 12-13 minute mile pace. I was thinking about finishing in 2:40. The crowd of other runners was long gone--everyone was spread out all over the course.
Miles 6-8: A great downhill run, followed by the steepest hill on the course, followed by another good downhill. I hauled ass down the first downhill so that I could walk up the steep hill. I then pushed myself on the second downhill. Just past the 7 mile marker, Starbucks employees wearing green aprons were trying to hand out beverage samples to passing runners. Who the hell wants coffee at a time like this?
Miles 9-11: Major reality check. I pushed myself HARD through these miles by alternating running and walking. This section of the course is a rolling up/down hill section and almost all of it was in hot direct sunlight, which zapped my energy very quickly. I kept trading places with a couple who were arguing about whether or not to run. The man wanted to walk and the woman wanted to run. Around mile 10, I passed them, and as I went by, I asked, "Are we having fun yet?" The man groaned. "That was about five miles ago," he replied. I didn't see them again.
At mile 11, I expected to turn right and head for downtown Bellevue and the finish line. Instead, the cop in the intersection pointed to the LEFT. I was crushed. I thought I was SO CLOSE, and now, I had to run some unspecified distance more (Ed. note: it turns out that 2 miles is 2 miles regardless of what route you choose and so this is yet another example of "marathon meltdown", where a runner's brain simply turns to mush at the end of a race).
Miles 11-12: Mostly walking, trying to conserve whatever energy I have left for the finish line. My legs were tight and I was having a hard time lifting my knees to run. My shoulders were tightening up, as well. I tried to walk as fast as I could, and at some point, I realized that I could walk the remainder of the race and still achieve my goal of finishing in under three hours. I kept saying to myself, "OK, let's finish this thing," and then I would start running. But every time I started running, I had to stop and walk again shortly thereafter.
Mile 12-13.1: I looked at my watch and said, "OK, I'll run to the finish when it says I'm at 12.5 miles". 12.5 miles became 12.75 miles and then 12.8 miles. The crowd of onlookers had grown at this point to include other runners wearing their finisher medals shouting at us that we were almost there. At 12.8 miles, I started running "into the light", as they say. I ran up the hill, around the corner, and into the chute. I remembered reading that the half marathon finish mat was on the right and the full marathon mat was on the left, so I positioned myself on the right side of the chute only to have a volunteer shout at me to go left. Whatever. I would have done 20 jumping jacks at that point if it meant the race was over. A guy in a green elf suit blew past me in the chute and everyone in the crowd cheered for him. I thought I was hallucinating. I saw my parents out of the corner of my eye as I pushed toward the finish mat. As I crossed the line and heard the timing chip beep, I saw the race photographers but I couldn't even muster a smile. The clock said 3:18 but my trusty wristwatch said 2:52. I walked into the recovery area and was greeted by a line of Seafair pirates, one of whom hung my medal around my neck and patted me on the back. I took some water and a slice of watermelon and slowly walked to meet everyone.
The aftermath: We went to the Hi-Life in Ballard for brunch and I had to hold back from wolfing down my humble ham scramble for fear that it might make me sick. I was high out of my mind for most of Sunday--a strange combination of elation, stiffness and fatigue. I wanted to take a nap but was too excited to sleep much. We went to El Gallito for dinner and I celebrated by drinking two margaritas and gorging myself on Mexican food.
I expect to spend most of this week recovering and deciding what to do next. But there is no doubt that this is one of the coolest things I've ever done. In February, I could not run one mile. In just four months, I went from zero to half marathon. Even I can't believe it.
Special thanks go to the Bellevue police officers who blocked intersections and dealt with angry Bellevue drivers all day so that we could run our little race. Those guys were awesome. Also, huge props to the apparently high school-aged kids who manned the water stations and screamed their lungs out for us--a tip of the Glukose cup to y'all.
We drove to Bellevue and arrived at 6:20. We spent a few minutes wandering around trying to figure out where the start/finish lines were. At 6:45, I got in line for the Honey Buckets and tried to relax. At 7:05, I was still in line, and starting to get nervous about missing the start. A woman with a bullhorn was walking through the toilet lines, yelling at everyone to get to the starting line NOW and not to worry because there were Honey Buckets all over the course. The guy in line behind me asked, "What is going to feel better? Getting to the finish line or getting to the toilet?" I voted for the toilet. Clearly, I had no idea what lay ahead.
I made it to the start line right at 7:15, so there was minimal standing around before the gun sounded. I worked my way to the back of the crowd with the slowpokes. A woman's voice boomed over the loudspeaker with two bits of advice: 1) start slow, finish fast, and 2) drink water before you feel thirsty. I rolled my eyes, but "start slow, finish fast" proved to be something of a mantra for me during the first 4-5 miles.
Start! The gun sounded and the crowd started inching forward, breaking into a trot as we ran over the mats and our timing chips beeped. There was a lot of clapping and cheering.
Miles 1-3: Start slow, finish fast. I could see the big crowd of runners in front of me as I trotted along and my watch said I was just above a 12:00 mile pace--perfect. I worked to hold myself back from running faster. As we turned the corner onto 116th, a bicyclist was cheering us on by shouting, "That's it--that's the last hill, you guys!" The cop in the intersection shot him an angry look. "Are you on crack?" asked the cop. Then, to us, the cop shouted, "Don't listen to this idiot." For some reason, we all cheered again.
A dude wearing an Army t-shirt passed us just before the first water stop and everybody cheered "Go Army!" as he passed. I traded places with him and his female cohort for several miles before moving ahead of them for good around mile 5.
The "band" at the corner of Northup Way was actually some hippie with a guitar who had camped out overnight in his van to entertain us. I couldn't help but laugh.
Miles 3-4: I kept trading places with an old lady who would walk for awhile, then sprint, then walk, then sprint--the exact opposite of my "slow and steady" strategy. It was a weird feeling to see her blow past me at a full sprint, only to pass her again a few minutes later. I thought about finishing at the same time as her and this proved motivating. I did not see her again after mile 5.
Miles 4-6: This is the slow burn up 140th. I could not believe how long this climb took. When I turned at the mile 6 marker, I was tired from running up the hill and I realized that I was not quite halfway done. My time at that point was 1:17 and I had stayed within a 12-13 minute mile pace. I was thinking about finishing in 2:40. The crowd of other runners was long gone--everyone was spread out all over the course.
Miles 6-8: A great downhill run, followed by the steepest hill on the course, followed by another good downhill. I hauled ass down the first downhill so that I could walk up the steep hill. I then pushed myself on the second downhill. Just past the 7 mile marker, Starbucks employees wearing green aprons were trying to hand out beverage samples to passing runners. Who the hell wants coffee at a time like this?
Miles 9-11: Major reality check. I pushed myself HARD through these miles by alternating running and walking. This section of the course is a rolling up/down hill section and almost all of it was in hot direct sunlight, which zapped my energy very quickly. I kept trading places with a couple who were arguing about whether or not to run. The man wanted to walk and the woman wanted to run. Around mile 10, I passed them, and as I went by, I asked, "Are we having fun yet?" The man groaned. "That was about five miles ago," he replied. I didn't see them again.
At mile 11, I expected to turn right and head for downtown Bellevue and the finish line. Instead, the cop in the intersection pointed to the LEFT. I was crushed. I thought I was SO CLOSE, and now, I had to run some unspecified distance more (Ed. note: it turns out that 2 miles is 2 miles regardless of what route you choose and so this is yet another example of "marathon meltdown", where a runner's brain simply turns to mush at the end of a race).
Miles 11-12: Mostly walking, trying to conserve whatever energy I have left for the finish line. My legs were tight and I was having a hard time lifting my knees to run. My shoulders were tightening up, as well. I tried to walk as fast as I could, and at some point, I realized that I could walk the remainder of the race and still achieve my goal of finishing in under three hours. I kept saying to myself, "OK, let's finish this thing," and then I would start running. But every time I started running, I had to stop and walk again shortly thereafter.
Mile 12-13.1: I looked at my watch and said, "OK, I'll run to the finish when it says I'm at 12.5 miles". 12.5 miles became 12.75 miles and then 12.8 miles. The crowd of onlookers had grown at this point to include other runners wearing their finisher medals shouting at us that we were almost there. At 12.8 miles, I started running "into the light", as they say. I ran up the hill, around the corner, and into the chute. I remembered reading that the half marathon finish mat was on the right and the full marathon mat was on the left, so I positioned myself on the right side of the chute only to have a volunteer shout at me to go left. Whatever. I would have done 20 jumping jacks at that point if it meant the race was over. A guy in a green elf suit blew past me in the chute and everyone in the crowd cheered for him. I thought I was hallucinating. I saw my parents out of the corner of my eye as I pushed toward the finish mat. As I crossed the line and heard the timing chip beep, I saw the race photographers but I couldn't even muster a smile. The clock said 3:18 but my trusty wristwatch said 2:52. I walked into the recovery area and was greeted by a line of Seafair pirates, one of whom hung my medal around my neck and patted me on the back. I took some water and a slice of watermelon and slowly walked to meet everyone.
The aftermath: We went to the Hi-Life in Ballard for brunch and I had to hold back from wolfing down my humble ham scramble for fear that it might make me sick. I was high out of my mind for most of Sunday--a strange combination of elation, stiffness and fatigue. I wanted to take a nap but was too excited to sleep much. We went to El Gallito for dinner and I celebrated by drinking two margaritas and gorging myself on Mexican food.
I expect to spend most of this week recovering and deciding what to do next. But there is no doubt that this is one of the coolest things I've ever done. In February, I could not run one mile. In just four months, I went from zero to half marathon. Even I can't believe it.
Special thanks go to the Bellevue police officers who blocked intersections and dealt with angry Bellevue drivers all day so that we could run our little race. Those guys were awesome. Also, huge props to the apparently high school-aged kids who manned the water stations and screamed their lungs out for us--a tip of the Glukose cup to y'all.
