This blog is gonna be a long and detailed account of the race I ran yesterday on the fourth of July. The Race is a five miler, and the first ½ is up hill.  A very steep hill.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  The race never begins at the start of the race.

     It usually starts long before with race prep and training.  That would be everything from making sure you’ve done everything right, from hill running, tempo runs, fartlek and the like, to being out in elements similar to those you will face, to knowing the actual course.  There’s probably a bunch of stuff that I’m missing, but you get the general idea.

    It ends usually with making sure you don’t train hard, if at all the day before the race to make sure you have energy to burn the day of the race, and make sure you are well rested before the race, by catching up on your sleep. 

    I have all of this done.  I made Friday a run free day to rest up, I got a good nights sleep on Thursday night into Friday, which I have heard is the right thing to do, since sleep can sometimes be hard to come by the night of a big race.  Rest is rest, take it where you can.

    I have everything ready.  I get up on time, maybe a minute before the alarm is set to go off.  I slept less than well, tossing and turning, but sleep is sleep, you rest when and how you can. 4 good hours of sleep is better than none at all. I have the clothes I am going to run in ready to go.  All the training I could have done I have done. Did the hill work, the speed work.  It’s  looking good.  

    Watch a viddy on running.

     

    I leave the house with my wife. I have everything.  Get to the race, pick up the race shirt, get up to the starting line.  Kiss my wife, tell her I love her, she says she loves me and she’s proud of me, wishes me luck, and takes a few pics of me in the crowd at the race start. 

      Go.

      The early going is fine.  No worries, the first few hundred yards are downhill, but I know it gets tricky after that, and I’m ready for it.  I’ve trained for it.  Make the right hand turn, and the sun hits me.  Hotter than I was expecting, it was only 64 degrees when I left the house, this feels warmer, but nothing drastic, nothing out of the ordinary. I get on with the business of running.

    I have no Ipod on, no music player of any type, but i have a song in my head whose meter I know by heart, a pace song.  And if you know anything about me from my previous blogs you know who it was.  Metallica.  The song I chose, and i could have chosen dozens that would have fit the bill was the song “Frantic” off of St. Anger.  I like the song, and it has a fast feel to it, something you can stride quick to.

   And stride quick I do, but not quick enough, or my stride isn’t long enough.  I hit the first mile at about a 7:55 pace.  But that has as much to do with running through and in a crowd as anything else.  I’m not worried.  I hit the first water stop, grab a drink, make sure I don’t grab the first cup handed, let someone else grab that one.  I take a swig and immediately start to choke on it.  There is an art to drinking out of a paper cup while running, which I forgot and didn’t do.  Grab the cup, hand on top of the cup and pinch the cup so there is a little spout and drink from that.  I didn’t do that and end up choking on H2O.  I drop back a little further, but not much. 

    The sun is beginning to beat down, and I’m keeping the pace song in my head. 

     Frantic tic tic tic tic tic tic tock. step step step step step step step.

       Between mile marker one and two is the hilliest part of the race.  I handle it well, passing a number of people on the hardest part of the race.  I’m pretty happy about that.  But that saps my strength for the up and down running in silver lake itself.   I hit mile two, beat but still going, at 15:50.  Not pushing hard.

    I’m slower than I want to be.  I’m thirsty, due to not getting enough water prior to the park, with no water stops in the park.  The sun is beating my ass.  I should have worn a hat.  I usually wear a hat but decided to forgo it because it was really nice out.  Mistake. 

   I do not however make the mistake of pushing too hard here in the park.  I’m not doing badly, but I’ve been better, and I want to conserve my strength for a final push later on.  But i find my stride lengthening, no worries.  This tells me that I will pick up some speed, and make up some time before the mile three marker. 

        Frantic tic tic tic tic tic tic tock. step step step step step step step.

    More hill, more sun, and after what feels like forever I finally get out of the park.  Hit the three mile marker at 23:55.  7:58…. Son of a Bitch.

    Annoyed.  This is the motivation that gets me really busting my ass.  And just in time.  The Big Downhill.  I Live on top of a hill, I know how to FLY down these things.  I’ve seen people shorten their stride running down hill, trying to control it.  Not me.  I widen my stride as far as I can, and make it less of a run and more of a controlled fall down the hill. For ½ a second I get away from the metallica and the police song walking on the moon jumps into my head.  One lyric in particular, over and over, not because of the beat either.

     “I hope My legs don’t break”

    I giggle, snort, spit, snarl and push for all that I’m worth.  The bottom of the hill comes up and there is a slight rise before a second longer and more gradual downhill.  I slow up and shorten up my stride a bit, can’t maintain that pace on the short uphill, so I don’t try.   Now I’m huffing and puffing, but I don’t care.  I stick myself to the center of the street.  Ignore the water, ignore the crowds.  Head down.  push, Push PUSH.

    There is a crowd ahead of me, and another behind, but no runners close by.  I feel alone on the road.  And I like it.  Hit Mile 4.  I ignore the person calling out the time.  Time is the enemy now, the more I know the less good it is.  Stare at the center double yellow line, run on it.  It’s mine.

   And then I hit a wall.  The sun, and lack of water i guess caught up with me.  I had to stop. So I do what i think will work.  Count to ten and restart.

   It amazingly works.  I have energy again.  I run through a garden hose sprinkler some guy has set up on the course.  I yell to him “PICK IT UP” he obliges, and I run through.  The temperature difference between the water and my body was vast.  It was so cold it hurt. I yelled loud.  “DAMN THAT WAS NICE”  I didn’t really mean the last 3 words.  Pain isn’t nice.

    But it gives me strength. I’m pushing again, hard, everything I have.  For the next ½ mile or so things go smooth.  And fast, but as I get to the entrance to the park where the finish line is, my stomach starts to bother me, but I am motoring.  Striding hard and long.  The hell with my stomach.

     Frantic tic tic tic tic tic tic tock. step step step step step step step.

   I see a runner I know who isn’t running, cheering people on, he notices me, and I him.  Give him a yell.   “Bill, How you doing?” He yells back, “Yer running fast, mike” or something like that and gives me a high five.  Some lady who i don’t know, who has some dogs with her (one in a baby carriage) gives me high five and says “go runner”

    Sounds good to me. she could have said you smell like chickens asshole and I wouldn’t have cared.  It was starting to catch up with me, my legs were feeling it for the first time all race, and my stomach is getting real bad.  There is only a few hundred yards to go and I have to stop again.

   Dammit.  I do the  same ten count I did before.  Then I bolt, hoping I won’t heave everywhere before the race is over.

    Make it down the final stretch, pushing as hard as i can to go as fast as I can.  Finish. The crowd is cheering, I am feeling ill, but strong enough to get to the chute to hand off my tag that will tell my time.

    I look around for my wife… where is she? Walk around for a second, see her and realize i left my stopwatch running. Shit. Stop the watch.  Time 39:16.45

   Maybe take 6 seconds off.  39:10.  Dammit, at least 30 seconds slower than I had wanted to be.  Busted my ass and I was slow. Double dammit.

    Walk around with the wife, take a few pics, rub my aching left hamstring. drink a LOT of water, eat a hot dog or two. Start feeling better.  Wife says she is proud of me.

    I love that woman.  I feel like crap and she’s there to support me. 

     Nothing felt better than that.

     The times are posted a little while later.  I am looking at the numbers, looking at the 39:00 finishes.  I’m not there.  WTF?  I start to get angry, thinking maybe they didn’t record my time.  Then I look on the previous page, and there I am.  38:30.46, a 7:42.09 m/m pace.  After running the first 3 miles at an 8:00 pace, i was able to whittle 18 seconds per mile off of the average.  Call it a 7:17 for the last 2 miles… with 2 stops. NICE.

     That 38:30 felt like a victory.  No, it was a victory.   I busted my ass, fought through my mistakes and blunders, pushed hard to the point where I was ready to collapse, and made it through to tell the tale.  Very nice indeed.

     Frantic tic tic tic tic tic tic tock.