On Realism, or The Urban Bourbon Half Marathon Kicked My Glutes

I kept my training cycle and schedule for this fall racing season pretty low key, mostly because I knew going in that it would be a rebuilding year. Rebuilding periods are mentally tough. Basically, "rebuilding" is a reframing of "not as fast as I know I can be" and learning to accept that. Rebuilding is realism. In fact, being overly optimistic about a rebuilding period is more likely than not a recipe for falling short of expectations and disappointment.

Yet it's practically human nature to be optimistic. Optimism about our own capabilities is the stuff that compels us to tie up the laces to head out for a run hours before the sun even rises.

After taking the bulk of the 12-month period after November 2012 off of serious training for middle-distance races, 2014 started off with some skiing, yoga, and overtraining for the Broad Street Run in May. Whoops. By then, Michelle had persuaded me to run another half marathon, so I needed to get my act together and train. I took June easy and ran without a watch for the entire month before ramping back up to train for this past weekend's race in Louisville, KY, the Urban Bourbon. I finished race, but the course kicked my butt. 

The swag kicked butt, too.

But, before the course kicked my butt, I also had a feeling of dread. Unlike the Richmond Half in 2012, I didn't run through the prior winter this year, and despite having run the Broad Street Run, my base was mediocre. I didn't prioritize strength training because I wanted to do more standup paddle boarding, and I was, well, lazy. Coming off the Army 10-Miler in 2012, I distinctly remember thinking, "I can run another 3 miles." This year, I finished a minute behind my 2012 time, which is inconsequential in a race as large as the ATM, but the thought as I crossed the finish line was definitely not "I can run another 3 miles."

Then, ten minutes after the race, I had foot and low calf cramps. I'd never had any sort of running-related muscle cramps before, so these caught me off guard. And if I was getting cramps after a 10-mile race, what would happen to me during a half marathon??

Is it self doubt leading to a self-fulfilling prophecy or realism when you jog to the start on race day and just hope that you can stay loose the next 13.1 miles and that they won't hurt too much? 

And the first 5 miles did feel good. But then the hills came. I hate hills, and for that reason, I rarely hit more than 2 hills during a long training run. During the race, there was a spectator on one hill that I could have hugged. He was coaching people up the hill, telling us things we already knew but were buried in an oxygen-deprived corner of our brains: use your arms, let your upper body carry you up the hill, you can do it. Nevertheless, these hills took a lot of fight out of me, and by mile 9, even though there were no more hills, I had lost a lot of will. Sadly for me, the Urban Bourbon was not a 10-mile race. Even sadder, I didn't really have a mantra planned or miles dedicated to anyone to carry me through the last three miles. Come to think of it, though, it's probably good that no miles were dedicated to anyone, lest the quality of mile 12 reflect the quality of our relationship.

Here's how my body felt: it was loose the first 5 miles. Then, both mentally and physically, I began to break down from miles 6 through 9. I took 3 walk breaks in mile 10 because my body tightened up. Hamstrings, calves, shoulders. My glutes would have tightened up if they still existed. I got my act together in mile 11 to run, but I took another 3 walk breaks in mile 12. Mile 13 was frustrating. I wanted to run the last 1.1 mile but made it only .6 of a mile before I needed to walk again. Strong finishes have always been my strength, but this was definitely not strong. 

Even though my race plan was to survive the first 10 miles and then see what happened, I really wanted the race to go better than that. So, I was pretty crushed at hardly surviving the first 10 miles and how bad the last 4 miles felt in comparison to the first 5 miles. The foot cramps that first showed up at the Army 10-Miler reappeared within 15 to 20 minutes after finishing, and I don't remember an endorphin (or any other) high. I'm pretty sure I told Michelle that I was never running another half marathon. Or hills. And if she wasn't there waiting for me at the finish, I would have skulked back to the hotel room and curled up into a ball.

Now I'm two days post race. What do you do when the thing about yourself that you could always rely upon becomes unreliable? You try to figure out what went wrong and whether you can get it back. Onward.

Eleven Ten and Eleven Eleven: 2013 Veterans Day 10K recap

The last few weeks, I decided to try an unorthodox experiment: what would happen if my moderately conditioned self decided to run a few 8 and 10Ks in successive weeks?

Here's what I learned:

• When I wake up not excited to race, the race is hard.
• Right now, I'm physically conditioned to run not much more than 5 miles.
• Hains Point has not gotten more exciting to run since last fall.
• "Local" DC races are way more competitive than "national" charity races.

Despite waking up Sunday morning from a great night of sleep, I really, really did not feel like jumping out of bed and running a 10K. I had registered for the Veterans Day because I wanted to compare my speed from the MCM 10K two weeks earlier and see what, if any, impact a flat course and fewer people would have. I'll cut to the chase – when you haven't been training, crowds and a slightly flatter course don't really have an impact.

Here's what happened: I took too long to find a parking spot, I ran to the course, immediately went on the port-o-potty line, and the race started. I jumped somewhere into a group of racers and crossed the start line 2 minutes after the start.

After about 4 and a half miles, I was ready for the race to be done. It wasn't as windy or overcast as I had expected, and I was overheating under my run jacket. Mentally, I also was not into it, which was sort of distressing because the only way back to my car was, well, down the race course. Plus, it was a Veterans Day race, which made me feel even more lame about being mentally checked out. Actually, any time you feel like the situation you're currently in is crummy, just think about what a vet went through during a deployment to a war zone, and you'll immediately reframe your immediate situation.

So yeah. I cursed my failure to eat a fritatta before the race like I did for my two prior races because obviously that was the difference in mentality between those and this race. And then I trudged on to finish the next couple of miles.

On track for a negative split...until I wasn't.
Guess where I checked out.

It wasn't pretty. I had no kick. The couple I'd been running with since mile 5.5 mile sprinted the last 20 yards, and right before crossing the timing mat, the guy reached back for his partner's hand so they could cross the line together. It was kinda cute. Next year, I need a cute guy to chase down the race course so I don't mentally check out...

Veterans Day 2013 on the Mall.

Returning to the Scene of Last Year's DNF

Today's race took me to the site of last year's DNF.

I ran the National Race to End Women's Cancer 8K this morning after spending an embarrassing amount of time deciding whether to wear shorts or tights. My tights threshold is usually 45˚F, but when I woke up this morning, it was 50˚F, overcast, and blustery, all of which tipped the needle towards tights. 

Apparently it was "overcast" because of a partial solar eclipse.

After realizing that celestial mechanics – and not the weather – were at work, I switched into shorts and jogged a mile to the start line.

Urrgh. My ankles were tight and cranky. Both sides. And it was noticeable. This would be an interesting ~5 miles.

Also, an interesting swag bag.

I went into this race with a few thoughts. 

First, I wondered what charity race organizers thought of people like me: middle of the packers who had at most empathy for the charitable cause but didn't fundraise. Then I lined up at the start next to a woman who was clearly (1) fast and (2) a bandit. I figured that even though I bought my race bib at over a 50% discount through Living Social (and basically made up that value in the contents of my race bag full of swag I'll actually use) and didn't fundraise, I was doing the charity more favors than a bandit. Plus, I'm blogging about it. So there.

Second, I really wanted to finish in under 47 minutes. I'm the queen of arbitrary race time goals, especially when I've been having as haphazard a season as this fall. But 47 minutes made some sense. When I plugged last week's 10K time into the McMillan Calculator, it spat out 47:29 for an 8K. And when I took my splits from last week's race, they added up to ~47:39 at mile 5. Adding in that the crowds from last week probably slowed me down, sub 47 for an 8K seemed possible. 

So here's what happened: I lined up way too close to the front for someone hoping for a 9:30 per mile base pace. My first half mile was close to an 8:30 per mile pace, and I spent the next 2 miles panicking and telling myself to slow down. I think I ultimately got it closer to a 9:20 pace for the second mile, and finally, for miles 3 and 4, I was just over 9:30s. The last not-quite-a-mile-unless-you're-zig-zagging-along-Pennsylvania-Avenue was just above a 9 minute mile pace. 

Cobble all that together, and it was a somewhat discombuluated, positive split run that came in at under 47 minutes. Whew.

My biggest takeaway is that while I loved not having to dodge slower runners right off the start, I spent a lot of mental energy telling myself to run my own race and not to care about the bodies moving past me. Sure, I wish I could have started in a more appropriate place, but who knows. Maybe the speed demons around me pushed me to my time goal today, and sometimes that works, too. 

MCM 10K: Then and Now

My first 10K was the 2006 Marine Corps Marathon 10K. The race itself was a mess. The marathon and the 10K both shared the same starting line, except they headed in opposite directions. So we were all lined up behind the marathoners (because where else were we supposed to line up?) and then after the marathon start, we were told to turn around and walk backwards until all 10K racers were behind the start line/balloon arch.

This basically left the slower runners at the front of the race and presumably faster runners toward the rear. Brilliant.

I spent the first half mile running around people already walking the race. The middle of the race I don't really remember. But I do remember the last turn before heading up the hill to the Iwo Jima Memorial: somehow, all the runners wound up in the right lane of the divided highway, and Marines were directing us to cross the grass-covered median to make the left turn onto Marshall Drive. Uhm, really?

Nevertheless, I hit my goal time and accomplished a new race distance. Wheee!

Since then, I've called the MCM 10K the ignored stepchild of the MCM, so it's kind of a surprise to me that I registered for this year's 10K. I can't even remember what thought process led me to the start line this year, although I suspect that I was enticed by the proximity of the start line to my home and also the course going over the dreaded 14th Street Bridge at mile 2.

Anyway, the 2013 race: I'd spent the 3 days prior to race day in New Hampshire, eating, drinking, and sleeping erratically. And my training this season was maintenance at best. So I didn't have high expectations for my run on Sunday. It was supposed to be a training (hah) run, and I planned to run the 1.5 miles to the start. I mean, I even had a frittata for breakfast. Who eats a frittata on race day??Basically, it was a huge question mark in my head whether I'd finish this race in under an hour.

So, I ran down to the Mall, did the port-o-potty thing, and then swung my legs over the metal barrier to get into the corral. Almost 4 minutes after the pistol went off, 7000 of my close friends and I crossed the start line.

The most noticeable thing for the next 5 miles is how blank and yet present my mind was. I noticed the turns around the Mall, the rhythm of the drum corps as I made my way onto the bridge, and the bridge itself (which, while boring, is pretty manageable in the first half of a race in comparison to the last half, which is where it hits in the Army Ten Miler and practically ever other race in VA/DC). I remember the turn off the bridge, the small loop around Crystal City, and then running around the Pentagon.

Things were feeling good.

And then, on cue, at mile 5, my legs turned lead.

Sweet baby deity, I realized, this was going to hurt. And there was still that annoying hill up to the finish.

I started picking out people to pass, like the dude wearing the inflatable cowboy riding a horse costume.

Turning up the hill, I was reminded of the first time I ran up it, when a spectator yelled at a runner near me, "Use your arms!" and I thought, "Hey! I have arms, too!"

And then there it was, the finish. And the clock. I squeaked in with my slowest 10K time, just under an hour, which was perfectly fine to me.

Sneaking a 5K in under the Radar

That is, to the extent that I'm on anyone's radar to begin with...

Yesterday, I ran a stealth race. Well, for you it was stealth because I didn't post it on my race schedule. For a few weeks, I had tucked in the back of my head the idea of running the National Press Club 5K, but I didn't want to do it unless the weather forecast called for unseasonably low temperatures. I decided it was time to upgrade the race bag I wanted some idea of how fast I was going into the summer, so if the weather cooperated, I'd register for the race. 

Right - the 2006 version of the race swag. Left - the 2012 version.

There was no way I was going to run in the 10K on the other side of town that featured a couple of miles on an elevated expressway that reflected sun like crazy. Speedy runners minimize the amount of time that they're exposed to the elements. The middle to back-of-the-pack people like me roast when the elements include unshaded stretches. At least, that's what I've learned about myself. Plus, I knew that the NPC 5K would be more laid back than the 10K. Very attractive.

Sure enough, weather reports showed that Saturday morning would be cool, so on Friday afternoon, I went over to the National Press Club, registered, and picked up an almost-diabolical race bib. 

Of course, when I stepped outside yesterday, it felt like tepid bath water: 68˚F and 65% relative humidity says NOAA. And my legs felt tired. I jogged a little over 3/4 a mile to the race start. My legs still felt tired. I did some dynamic stretching. Still tired. A paramedic came over to me and asked me about the race course and distance (you'd think the race organizers would have done this, no?). The legs still felt tired. I did exactly two strides up and down a city block. Meh. The legs felt okay. 

If last week was any indication, one of my biggest challenges — other than diligence in training — has been determining where to line up at the starting line. I'm not speedy. I'm also not run/walking, either, unless something has gone horribly wrong (see: 2009 Army 10-Miler). I needed to ditch my modus operendi of lining up behind someone carrying an absurd amount of water for the distance or wearing too many clothes for the weather because this strategy wreaks havoc for the first mile. Havoc ≠ good. So instead, I lined up next to someone who said to her neighbor, "How long is this going to take?" I moved to my left. I wound up behind someone who I then overheard saying to a friend, "Everyone behind me looks faster than me." I moved forward.

That was a good choice. There were just under 500 runners in the race, but I was never alone. I tried to be fancy with my Garmin, which messed some things up, and I also forgot to hit stop at the end of the race. All I can say with certainty is that the first mile was okay. Mile 2 was also okay. I saw an 18:xx when I passed the only mile marker that I saw on the course at mile 2. Mile 3 hurt. Somewhere in the last mile, a woman in a light blue shirt passed me and started to put a small distance between us. That was before the incline.

This course is devious in that the last .1 mile starts with a hill that's noticeable to tired legs. I trudged on. I reeled in the woman in the light blue shirt. Sure, two women passed on my right, chatting away, as I did this. Then I rounded the corner to the finish and passed the woman in the light blue shirt and a few other runners. Definitely, this is what I'm most proud of from yesterday.

The last time I ran this course, I was strong — rather than steady — on the uphill, and got passed in the final stretch. I returned the favor yesterday, holding steady on the uphill and then surging (maybe only relatively?) into the finish.

My finish time was just under a minute off (above) my 5K PR. There's a lot of work to do if I want to go sub 2 hours in Richmond in November. But for yesterday, I finished 6th in my age group. Gotta love the small races providing ego boosts!

Trail Race #1 is in the Books!

Yay! After nearly causing a slow moving car wreck in the business park where we were directed to park and pick up the race shuttle, after having a lackluster training cycle, and after having downgraded the "race" to a "training run" in my head (does anyone ever successfully do this?), my body proved to be in better condition than I gave it credit for. It carried me over the North Face Endurance Challenge 10K course – 5.85 miles (more on this later) of dirt, mud, asphalt, crushed gravel and a few large puddles – all with very few complaints. It kind of makes me wonder whether I should have pushed more, but even as I look back, I think the only thing I could have changed on Sunday was where I lined up.

Crazy storms blew through Friday evening, leaving in their wake cool temps and low humidity both Saturday and Sunday. This is such a rarity in northern Virginia in early June. What a treat!

The shuttle bus dropped me off at the race course about 10 minutes before the half marathon was schedule to start. I bee-lined it to the port-o-potties. I kind of felt bad to be on line with the half marathoners about to toe the line, but my body had decided to keep things exciting: apparently I had a sensitivity to something I had eaten the night before. And it had been close to 45 minutes since I'd left home. So, a huge GRACIAS to the guy who let me go before him. I'm pretty sure I cut the line.

I can't remember the last time I had such a mellow pre-race. I mean, I actually pulled out a book and read! Maybe I was a little too laid back about things because when it came time to line up for the race, I put myself in the middle to back. Granted, I wasn't entirely sure what my body was capable of.

Before.
[All race photos are screen grabs from UltraRacePhotos.com]

This is where I admit that on Saturday I did the anti-taper. My confidence was so shattered after running with the stranger on Thursday that I needed to make sure I could hold a pace. My pace. So I did an early morning 3-miler on Saturday and chased it with yoga – taking one class and teaching another. So the legs probably weren't the freshest for racing. Good thing this was a training run.

Although I crossed the starting line running, everyone slowed to a walk as we began to wend around a congested loop circling a playing field. I walked for about half of that loop before being able to take regular strides. 

My plan – to the extent that I had one – was to use the wider asphalt golf cart path and crushed stone path (where runners could actually run two abreast, and where the surface was firmer) to position myself behind people roughly my pace before heading onto the single track portion of the course.

Executing the positioning plan.

This worked out pretty well for me. Once on the crushed stone path, I stayed mostly on the left, passing. We came up to the aid station, where I expected to turn onto dirt single track, except it was asphalt. Weird. It eventually became a dirt path, and I found myself passing on the single track until runners started coming back toward us on the out and back. At times, the group would chat. The taller runners among us would call out when there were on-coming runners. In general, we weren't a chatty group, but I also think that the trails were a new thing for most of us.

Somewhere in the midst of mile 3, I started wondering whether I could keep this up. "This" being hanging with the latest pack that I'd run up to. We were on single track, looping around a wooded area near the Potomac before heading back on the trail we'd just left.

Coming out of aid station, ~1.7 miles to the finish.

Once we returned to asphalt – and later the crushed stone path – I found that my strength had been running on single track. I could hang with the runners in front of me on the trail, but they pulled away on the more even and regular surface.

Back on the crushed stone path, the 10K course and half marathon course were one. Half marathoners began to pass me, but having them on the course was actually great motivation because I think the 10K runners were really spread out by this point. Not that the half marathoners weren't all spread out, too. I'm sure they were glad to be able to pick off the slower among us. It was probably a symbiotic relationship. But, the half marathoners definitely paced me for a strong last mile or so. Plus, I have them to thank for leading the way through the puddles/water crossings on the way back in. 

Back on golf course, getting chased by a half marathoner.

The last stretch of the course was on the asphalt golf cart path. It's crazy how an imperceptible downward slope helps me immensely. At about a quarter mile to go, I stalked down two 10K runners and shot past them just as the path sloped down. It looked like a bigger move than the energy I used – I promise – because about 10 strides later, 2 half marathoners zipped by me.

Ahhhh! Can't! Hang! On!

What's up with my arms?

But, it was a great finish for me – I actually had a kick!

Here's the thing: I'm a trail running noob, and I completely understand that distances aren't as precise for trail races as they are for road races. The trail 10Ks that I know about have always run long. When the 10K course guide listed the distance as being 6.4 miles, I mentally braced myself. Nearly 6.5 miles on dirt was not going to be easy with the training that I'd had. But I was as ready as I was going to be.

So, I was not expecting to look down at my Garmin at the finish and see that it had measured the course to be 5.85 miles. I mean, that's half a mile shorter than advertised. It's not even 10K.

Yes, my Garmin has been finicky at times, so maybe it measured the wrong distance. But off by half a mile?

The course guide stated that the turn north toward the Potomac,
 just past Sugarland Run (bottom right) was at mile 2.4...hmmm...

And, yes, while it would be awesome to have run 6.4 miles of trail in under an hour, given that I'm not in great shape right now and my best 10K on asphalt is just under 58 minutes, 5 years ago, I really doubt the race course was 6.4 miles.

In the end, I don't mind that the course was shorter than expected. But at the same time, I thought I'd be running at least 6.2 miles. I guess I mostly have mixed emotions – I don't feel like I can say that I ran a 10K trail race.

I'll just have to register for another one, right? And wear a shirt that doesn't ride up.

On returning to running, training, and racing

April marked the 1-year anniversary of my return to running after a nearly 2-year layoff. Not that I was a speedy runner when I dialed down the running in 2008 and then almost all together in 2009, but I was most certainly faster in 2008 than I am now. Like, two and a half minutes over 8K faster. That's a tough pill to swallow.

I ran my first race of the year on Sunday, a small 8K in downtown DC, in near-perfect weather conditions. I had no idea what time I could turn in or whether I could run 8K without stopping for a traffic light to catch my breath. Yeah, the training has been that haphazard.

I lined up in what I thought was the middle of the pack. I'm insecure as a runner, so unless the race start has pace-based corrals, I often line up near someone who is wearing too many layers for the weather and carrying an absurd amount of water for the race distance.

I've run this course multiple times, always with a large crowd. Sunday's race was significantly smaller, with just over 700 people at the start. Roughly two-thirds of the runners did the 8K, and everyone else was on the 5K course. The crowd thinned out immensely after 2 miles. Coincidentally, that was the only mile marker that I saw on the course, and I have no idea how I could have missed the other two. It's not like it was crowded. In fact, after 2.5 miles, I think I saw only passed 12 more racers. Actually, I wasn't counting. I was too busy checking out my Garmin and panicking about the paces I saw.

It turns out, I should not rely on the paces that my Garmin spits out on race day because between my inability to run in a straight line and the Garmin's challenges with picking up satellite signals that aren't bouncing off of buildings, I was once again duped into thinking I was cruising faster than I was. Like 10-12 seconds per mile faster (on average). Not that I'm displeased with my finish time: it's completely respectable given how haphazard my training was (did I mention this already?), and it's a lovely reminder of how far I've come since returning to the sport a year ago.

Less speedy than I thought I was: Garmin measured
.1 mile more than the race distance.

I'm spending this week easing back into a little maintenance running and also picking up two new regular restorative yoga classes (teaching) on the weekend. Next week, training for the North Face Endurance Challenge 10K begins in earnest!

2011 Jingle All the Way 8K Recap

Today was the first time I'd run a race with a friend and also gone in looking for more of a training run than spectacular results. Done and done.

After my panic yesterday morning with the local NPR traffic reporter declaring multiple times that the 8K was yesterday, today's hitches were significantly less stressful. The race organizers had written on the race website that racers could cross the start line as late as 9:15am, and after my running pal's last-minute early-morning waffling (from "Well....I think the right decision is not to run" at 7 a.m. to "Okay, I'm on the train" an hour and fifteen minutes later), I figured we'd be using that 15-minute grace period. 

I jogged a little over a mile to my office, testing out layers and carrying post-race gear in a pack. As I neared the White House, I saw more and more of my brethren  – runners wearing Santa and elf hats, wearing reindeer antlers, and decked with boughs and holly – jogging toward the start line. A running shoe company could have filmed us all and deemed it their holiday message, and it would have been rad.

From the warmup, I figured out that I was wearing too many layers on top, even though I was carrying a pack. I was now down to a tank and my trusty long-sleeve JL Racing shirt, a holdover from my coxing years....so glad I'm retired from that, by the way.

It turns out that the race start was delayed by roughly 30 minutes to re-set the race course after miscommunication with MPD. Whoops. Capital Running Company promptly sent us all emails this afternoon apologizing about that, too. Good for them.

We waited in a patch of sun on the side of Freedom Plaza, uh, unoccupied by the Occupy DC people, and wondered what the holdup was. By the way, the same ridiculous NPR station that kept saying the race was yesterday had also said it was 24˚F when I walked out the door today. Seriously, I have no idea if the station is ground-truthing any of its reports, but I'm sure it was over 30˚F. And no other weather website was reporting temps under 30˚F in D.C.

Even having spent the better part of the last three weeks sick, I still had some expectations for this race beyond finishing. My secret undisclosed plan was to run at an 11-minute mile pace and to pick it up in the end. 

We ran at a very even and manageable pace, and because I've run this 8K course several times and had someone to talk to, I wasn't even annoyed at the multiple loop-de-loops. Miles 1-2 took just under 22 minutes. Miles 3 and 4 were again in the 21 to 22 minute range. The last stretch – where we caught up to another gal rockin' a green Team Sparkle skirt – was probably at nine and a half-minute mile pace.

This was by no means my fastest 8K. It may have been my coldest 8K, and it was the first in a green Team Sparkle skirt. And, I got in a good, long conversation from a great friend (who may or may not have contemplated telling one of her children "Mommy's going for a run!" before driving to the Metro to head into the District). Heh.

Santa drew me in for a tight hug. That was a little weird.

Result: 53:03/10:40 pace.

2011 Army 10-Miler Race Recap

Final time: 1:42:25 (official)

Average pace: 10:14 minutes/mile

As far as shooting for somewhere in between 1:50:21 and 1:33:39 goes, well, I came close to splitting the difference. Sub 1:40 didn't happen, and that's okay because I went from zero to 10 miles in one season, which I've never successfully done before. And for those of you surprised that I ran essentially the same time that I did last week in a training run, last week's run was in my ideal conditions, to the extent that rain, wind, and low 50˚s can be "ideal." I'm just not conditioned to run 10 miles in warmer, sunny conditions, and it's something I was concerned about.

On to the race. I didn't like the new start or finish areas, and with the new course, the final half mile was a test of mental fortitude. And there was a major port-o-potty deficit. I know I'm not the only person who ran to her already-moving start wave.

Mile 1. Lots of jockeying for position and finding a comfortable pace rhythm. I was not a fan of the loop-de-loop (cloverleaf) onto Memorial Bridge - it caused a bigger bottleneck than the old ramp did. Here's where I also discovered that my Garmin and the official race measurements were inconsistent, and I didn't have the presence of mind to manually hit "LAP." The official mile marker was probably 20 paces ahead of what my Garmin registered, and this distance continued to increase throughout the race. Based on the extra time after the Garmin registered 10 miles, probably 7 or 8 seconds should be added to all my Garmin splits. Anyway, I had a mild panic when I looked at my watch and saw the time. Garmin mile 1 – 10:41.

Mile 2. More jockeying on Memorial Bridge. I found a couple that were holding a decent pace and stuck with them until we passed the Lincoln Memorial. Garmin mile 2 – 9:56.

Mile 3. A slight climb up Virginia Avenue. Nothing of note to report....still feeling good. Garmin mile 3 – 10:06. This is the pace I wanted to stick.

Mile 4. Remember that pace I wanted to stick? Yeah, for some reason, in every race over a 5K, mile 4 is always my fastest mile. It's relative, of course. I think here it's because there's a slight downhill as you round the Watergate and pass the Kennedy Center. Oh, and someone called out my name in front of the Watergate, but I think it was more coincidence. This happened in 2008, too, and was awesome. Garmin mile 4 – 9:46.

Mile 5. I don't remember much of the fifth mile, other than being frustrated as I bypassed the water station but still got caught up by people walking in the middle of the road drinking water. I glanced at the MLK Memorial on my right, and somewhere before the end of the mile, I took a few Honey Stinger chews. I bonk after about 1 hour and 15 minutes without replenishment. Garmin mile 5 –10:06.

Mile 6. I started looking for my dad around here. He's never been to any races before, and I had no idea if I'd find him. All I knew was that he was going to take Metro to Smithsonian. I was also wondering where the hell the water station was to rinse out the Honey Stinger chew mash in my teeth. Garmin mile 6 – 10:05.

Mile 7. Why the Army 10-Miler takes a 10K split rather than a 5M split is beyond me. Mine's not anything to write home about, 1:03:45 (out of curiosity, I looked up my 10K split*** in 2008 – 1:02:37). I was kind of hurting here. Then, finally, the water! No more chewed up Honey Stinger mash in my teeth! Garmin mile 7 – 10:23 (I can't drink water and run at the same time, but at least I hang by the side).

Mile 8. I was keeping an eye out for my dad on the way back up Independence Avenue, but I wasn't optimistic. I had a few fakeouts earlier. But there he was, on my left, maybe 50 feet past the Smithsonian Metro entrance! Yay, Dad, you made it to the race! And then I was off, around 14th Street and onto the Bridge. My nemesis. Garmin mile 8 – 10:03.

Mile 9. It's not a well-raced Army 10-Miler until you dry heave on the 14th Street Bridge. Granted, it's sort of embarrassing to be dry heaving at my pace, but whatever. You can't say that I wasn't at anaerobic threshold. I can't say anything nice about this bridge. I wanted to stop. My right calf was tight. And the Hash House Harriers weren't even out there giving out beer. WTF. Garmin mile 9 – 10:04.

Mile 10. The finish used to be exit off the interminable 14th Street Bridge, make a right under the overpass, another quick right, and then sprint to the end. Finit. Not this year. Yes, the last mile started on the bridge, but there was still close to half a mile after the bridge to the finish. Up the hill/ramp/overpass that we used to go up to get to the start. And that hill/ramp/overpass is a series of blind turns, so you have no idea where on earth the finish is. Dastardly. Garmin mile 10 – 9:51 

My Garmin picked up an additional .16 mile thanks to not syncing with the course, so my last .16 miles, per Garmin, was at an 8:45 pace, or 1:26. Way to kick it.

In the end, the one 9:46 mile wasn't enough to make up for the two miles significantly over 10 minutes, and although today's 10K split was only a minute and change off my 2008 10K split,*** I just didn't have the same amount of juice left in my legs for the last 4 miles. It's probably best that I had forgotten about that gem of a statistic, otherwise I would have been too fixated on pushing too early and barfing on the bridge, instead of just dry heaving.

On to Tough Mudder Virginia in two weeks!!!




***Okay...statistics geek that I am, I was in the middle of figuring out what my splits were were the last 3.8 miles in 2008 when it came up that I was running 8:10 miles. And that made no sense. In 2008, they took a 6.5 mile split, not a 10K split. Again, I have no idea why 6.5 and not something more intuitive, like 5.