Mystery runner race report

She appeared out of nowhere and started asking me questions.

“How fast are you going to run it?”

I had been noodling over some possible times to shoot for, but I hadn’t dared write them down or even say them out loud. Then it would become an actual goal, a marker to measure my success – or failure.

“I want to come in under 40 minutes,” I replied, kind of taken aback about the forward question from someone I had never seen before but answering it anyway.

“A lot under 40?” she asked, but peppering me with “Are you going to go out too fast in the first mile?” before waiting for a response to the first query.

“Yeah, probably,” I said with a laugh. “I don’t mean to go out so fast, but a lot of times it happens that way.”

She had short gray hair. Seemed to be in her 50s. She talked some more, telling me she had run the Amy Thompson run on Memorial Day in Kansas City for years and years. We talked about how we probably shouldn’t start so far up in the pack, but it was a reasonable strategy or you just spend so much of the first mile or two using up energy, and taking time while weaving through folks who probably should have found a spot more suitable to their pace a little farther back.

I know I would just block the true rabbits in the race so I try to stay out of their way at the front.

Then, just before the gun went off, she walked away. Absorbed by the crowd so quickly that I almost wondered whether the woman actually had been by my side talking. Or if I had just imagined the entire conversation.

But the race was on. And, yes, I did say, “Holy Crap!” out loud when my Garmin beeped off the first-mile split. It was under 8. Shoot. It was under 7:30.

“Easy there, mister,” I admonished myself.

But I was doing OK. I kept checking my legs. They were pumping fairly well. A little tired from recent runs, but a decent level of energy.

I dialed it back a little. No need to flame out with a big surge too early.

Started feeling a little weary around mile 3. Not long after I saw some of the folks from my Saturday running group passing out water at an aid station. They shouted encouragement. They whooped. They hollered. One guy had on a grass hula skirt and a coconut bra.

I felt a surge of energy as I laughed my way down the road.

When I needed another boost I replayed my pre-run tunes inside my head. Liz Phair’s “Extraordinary” and “Stars and Planets” were blasting through my iPod in the car on the way to the race.

“the ones that shine the brightest aren’t stars at all, they’re the planets just like us….
And from big to small, we all shine, shine, shine…”

Checked out the Garmin. 4.3 miles. Come on. Push it. Push it. Just a little more.

As I looked up at the finishing clock, I pumped my fist. Came in under 40. I Blew that PR away. By nearly two minutes.

Before leaving the house, I had looked up my time in this race last year. And my all-time fastest 8K from Al’s Run in Milwaukee a few years back. I have been feeling strong and I was thinking about pursuit of a PR.

But I hadn’t really decided. In fact I was wavering. Then I committed by saying it out loud to an ethereal runner who was there one minute and then gone.

Who was that woman?

Laughing at the lightning

Not sure whether it was faith or fear of self loathing.

Thunder rocked the house – and me awake – in the wee hours this morning. Crap, I thought, that’s going to be a fun run this morning.

The rain pounded on the roof. A giant flash of lightning illuminated our room and more thunder crackled outside.

Lightning already kept me off the streets one day this week. Not today, I thought.

I dragged myself out of bed.

Maybe it was faith that the skies would clear by the time I drove out to meet the Saturday morning group for our long run.

Or maybe it was fear that I would stay in bed, listen to the rain and then by the time I woke up I would see nothing but sunshine and blue sky, hating myself and my laziness for the rest of the long weekend.

Either way, I got out there. The group was quite a bit smaller. Maybe a bunch were scared away by the weather. Or maybe a bunch were just out of town.

The course had some monster hills again. My legs started feeling heavy. Thinking of my 8K on Monday, I decided to take it easy and save a little for the race in a couple days.

I logged 10 and a half and called it a day.

Now I can fire up the grill tonight, sip a beer or maybe a glass of wine – or both – with a clear conscience. Once again, I realize, it’s great to be a runner.

Taunted by thunder, tempted by dumb decisions

Stay flexible and be prudent.

I’m trying, I guess. Even though that’s not usually how I roll.

Wednesday night as I dozed off I was doing a few calculations and realized I would be on track to put in 30+ miles this week. That was a satisfying thought.

But don’t count your miles before you run them. As I woke the next morning, lightning bolts flashed and thunder laughed at me.

Rain drops won’t make me melt, I figured. But a lightning strike would leave me a little crispy. I certainly don’t have the speed to evade lightning bolts.

I dragged myself out of bed, but I didn’t run. So much for those 7 miles. So this is what it feels like to make a prudent decision, I thought.

Today I rose to a beautiful sunshiny morning. Should I get in the 7 I missed yesterday?

Well, tomorrow I am supposed to do 12. Then I have an 8K race on Monday. And the Half is coming up the following week.

A full 7? Not a good idea.

But I did get out. Ran 4. See? I’m being flexible and making good decisions.

Feels kind of strange. Maybe if I can keep it up eventually I’ll get used to how it feels.

Fill 'er up

I’ve been sputtering on fumes.

A couple 19-hour days at the office last week. A business trip to the East Coast. A continuing intensive soul-sucking project at work. Back-to-back Cub Scout camping weekends. Our usual hectic pace of family life.

My tank has been about empty lately.

Funny, though, I have been filling it back up not with rest, but by going on long runs. Treated myself to a 12 miler a couple Sundays ago and did 14 over a course with mondo hills last Saturday. Took the day off from work on Monday and went out for 7 miles.

While running, usually I try to work through some problem in my life. Or maybe mentally compose a draft on a writing project.

But I have been so bedraggled lately that running has been a Zen-like experience. My mind has cleared and I have focused mostly on the rhythm of my breathing or the pattern of my footfalls. Truly just absorbing the moment.

My running has become a rock for me to grip while turbulence swirls in much of the rest of my life.

I am getting more than a little excited about the upcoming Hospital Hill Half Marathon. Topher’s recent monumental decision also sent the gears in my head whirring madly.

In the meantime, guess I’ll just keep running and hope everything else moves back into balance sooner rather than later.