Slackerdom

Wow. Where have I been? Oh - yeah - having a LIFE. But I have been running, and that's a good thing.

Let's see -- what have my loyal reader(s) missed?

Dismal Swamp Stomp Race Report

What a FABULOUS race! If there was ever a half marathon race course designed for a PR, this is it. Imagine -- 6.55 miles straight out, do a u-turn around the designated u-turn sign, then 6.55 miles straight back. No curves, no turns, and no HILLS!

Mingling around before the start (no corrals, which was nice), I spotted a pacer with a 2:15 sign. HMMM. Pacer. That's a thought. I glance back, and there's a pacer with a 2:30 sign. Quickly do the mental math - Rock n Roll was a 2:37 - Disney was 2:49 - maybe I could hang with the 2:30 pacer as long as possible and see what happens?? So I pop over and introduce myself. This is Roy the pacer, soon to be my new BFF. Dee realizes that I'm not coming back, and eventually follows me over to my new crew.

Gun goes off, and we're off! Roy's plan - 11:05 pace and walk the water stops. Ummm, that's a little stomach twisting as I've been in my happy relaxed "I'm still recovering from knee surgery after 5 months" pace, but hey, let's just turn off the brain and run.

First two miles are NOT 11:05. They are 11:20 - 11:30. I nervously point this out to Roy more than once. He eventually tells the group that we'll "pick it up" after the first water stop. So, first water stop, I briefly lose Roy, but then he reappears and we pick it up, alright. To a 10:34. At the end of that mile, we're alone. Me and Roy. Roy and me. And there we'll be for a while.

So, now my personal pacer Roy & I start clicking off the miles, chatting and walking the water stops as planned. Yes, the elites came back along the road as we were at 3.76, which was depressing, but hey, I have a personal pacer! They don't. So take THAT, you silly fast people.

Roy knows EVERYONE apparently. He's naming all the elites as they come towards us, and he even knows a large percentage of the non-elites. "Hey Joe -- we'll be picking you up at the end". Ha ha ha. But I have a personal pacer.

As we come up to the 6.55 mile turnaround point ("remember to wave to the camera so there's a great picture of me and my personal pacer"), we pick up another runner. Karma. Yep. Karma. That's her name. No more of me and my personal pacer Roy, it's now a love triangle. There's another woman in our relationship.

We continue to clip along, the three of us now, and I'm still feeling great. I'm relaxed, I'm not even working hard. I could run like this all day (theoretically). We get to the 10 mile marker, and everyone's pacer Roy does one of his sideways jaunts to tease someone he knows, and I just keep going. I'm not slowing down while he talks, I'm rocking on.

Roy calls to me -- "where are you going?" I replied "you're talking - I'm running" and keep going. He realized that, like a baby bird, it was time for me to leave the nest. "If you feel good - keep going!" With that gentle nudge, I spread my wings/feet and flew/ran. (Sorry - should have warned you about the bad analogy)

I crank out a 10:53 for the next mile, then drop back to 11:04 as I'm not feeling particularly great. I'm entertained by the woman who is having to yank down her shorts literally every 5 steps ("give up - let em ride up at this point - but didn't you try running in them at least once before wearing them in a half marathon??"), but am starting to hit my puke threshold. So I start dwelling on that. "What if I have to puke? I shouldn't have taken that last cup of Gatorade/ impersonating as water. I should have brought my own hydration. This sucks. I don't want to puke in the bushes." I actually had to walk for a few steps to bring the stomach back down where it belonged.

Aha! Mile 12 marker. One (point 1) mile left! I can do ANYTHING for 1 mile! So I swallow hard and chug on. I'll beat riding-up-shorts lady. I'll beat the lady in the bright yellow shirt. There's DEE! WOOO! Seeing my cheering squad and hearing her shouting and encouraging me gets me going for that final sprint to the finish line. She's screaming that I'm gonna beat 2:30 - that it's going to be a 2:26. Well, almost. 2:27:03 chip time! OH MY GOSH! That's a PR by 10 minutes! And there wasn't even a bear chasing me!

Roy the (Personal) Pacer, I love you!

So buoyed by that, I enter what I have titled The Summer of Speed. I'm going to kick butt on all my speed work, and really push on my tempo runs. I'm faster than I think I am, and I've realized that I've been in the easy run tempo pace zone, using my knee as a rather flimsy excuse. There's nothing wrong with it (now), and it's time to get going.

Speed. I am speed.