Going into today’s race, I honestly felt like I had something to prove. I mean, not only was I the coach for the clinic, but it’s also the first race I’ve had to do since losing a large amount of weight. Instead of the pressure really working to make me up my game positively, I think it really affected me in a less than positive way. Instead of being relaxed, I was absolutely terrified of what I considered “failure.” Of course, “failure” wouldn’t have been a true failure in the least, but in my mind I had one true goal: obliterate my old personal best.
The race report and a photo of the medal follow after the jump.
Waiting in the starting chute was interesting. There weren’t enough people to warrant the spacing they provided. The members of my group and I were just chatting away when all of a sudden the crowd started moving forward. There didn’t really seem like any big horn or gun or anything was used. I mean, we certainly didn’t hear it from where we were. I originally planned to do a negative split, which means that my back half of the race would be faster than my first half. However, from the first kilometre I could tell that my body was going to do something else. I was going fast. I didn’t want to slow down because I didn’t want to regret missing my goal by a few minutes. So, right then I changed my game plan. Knowing that the average pace required to make a 2:30 half marathon is 7:07/km, I wanted to bring my average as low as I could early on, then ease up and try to keep the time from dropping below that point. In the first few kilometres, I was really banking some good time. I even ended up skipping a few of my walk breaks just to try to work in more distance. Instead of walking, I reduced my pace at those breaks to a slow jog in an attempt to get distance while resting a little bit. Yes, it sounds good on paper, but I had never done that before in training. So, no, it wasn’t a good idea at all.
So, I drove my average pace down as low as I could muster without burning out early. After a certain point though, I switched gears and went into a sort of maintenance mode. I did my best to not let the average pace drop too much. I knew that it’d go lower as I slowed down and eased up, but I didn’t want to let it go too far. I kept telling myself: FOCUS! It was all I could do to stay conscious about my effort levels. That went on for a few kilometres, but then fatigue really started setting in. At that point, I started walking properly during my breaks. Every time I did I knew saw myself lose a second or two on average pace. I didn’t let it get to me at that point because I anticipated all of that. Thing is, it all got harder. My average pace kept getting slower and slower. I told myself: “you have to fight for every damn second!” No one was going to hand the race to me. I had to really work for it. Due to the nature of the route, I passed by a lot of familiar faces along the way. Either people I knew were calling for me, or I was calling for them. I cheered loudly for every single person I came across. I swear, compared to a few people that said hello to maybe one or two people I felt popular. Hahah.
By 16 kilometres I wasn’t doing so well. My timing was still OK, but I knew it could all slip through my fingers if I relaxed too much. So, I did my best to keep up, however, the pace advantage I banked early on just trickled away. Somewhere along the way I caught up to one of the pace leaders in my clinic who happened to be having a rough day. I wanted to encourage him to keep at it. At the same time, he encouraged me as well. I was far too fatigued though to keep a good run going. I had to walk a few times outside of my set intervals, and that was driving me nuts. I knew that each time I did that I was creeping closer and closer to the limit I set. It wasn’t good at all. I was starting to lose hope and panic was setting in. The person I was running with reminded me that everyone has off days and it just happened that our off day occurred during the race. What bad timing. He was really doing his best to get me out of my negative state. It helped, and for that I’m thankful to him. Eventually, when we got to about 19.5K we knew that there was no point in walking anymore. Even though I was tired as hell I knew that I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to risk missing my goal, so I just kept going. At one point we heard the roar of the crowd which just egged us on. He eventually said that the finish line was around the corner, and that we should push harder, so I did. As I went around the corner though I saw that the finish line was probably a quarter mile away. Damn! He was bolting off to the end but I knew I couldn’t follow. I did push harder though. I remember thinking about how my legs were burning the whole time: it’s not a normal feeling. I was cheered on by a couple of familiar and excited faces in the crowd which gave me the push I needed. When I crossed the line, I was completely pleased with myself for breaking 2:30 like I wanted. I did it! And this is the medal that we got from the race.
I was starting to get emotional over the craziness of it all, but I kept telling myself to “man up” and work through it. I was really tired though. I was breathing far too hard during that last stretch, and the burning in my legs took a while to clear up. For a few moments I was actually afraid that I would collapse and pass out. I didn’t, but if I had done something silly like bend down I probably would have. No lie. I spent time meeting people from my group who had already finished and greeting people who were in the process of coming in. The general consensus I got was that the route was tough. As much as the route was billed as a flat route, there were some decent slopes along the way. I suppose knowing that I wasn’t the only one struggling makes me feel a little bit better. Yes, six minutes isn’t really a huge improvement. I mean, it’s less than what I wanted, but I can’t be so hard on myself. I worked hard for this. I shouldn’t pretend like this was a failure. That being said, I definitely need to work on not putting such expectations on myself. Racing is so much more fun without the weight of the world on my back, know what I mean?
Anyway, that’s what happened this morning. This ends the story of my half marathon clinic coaching stint. I’m relieved that it’s come to a good end. I really need a break though. Daaaaaaamn.
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