Scrapped due to injury at beginning of training cycle, late March
Result: 6:34
Goals:
When we decided to do a Flying Pig weekend, the mile had been my #1 goal. After running The Pig as my first 26.2 three years ago, Cincy holds a special place in my heart, and I wanted something special to happen there for me.
I opted for the mile for a few reasons:
1) I couldn't do a Sunday race since Jerry's half was Sunday and, since we were bringing our little potato, someone had to watch the kid.
2) I can run a 5K or 10K pretty much anywhere in Atlanta at anytime. The mile is less prevalent.
3) I like to minimize the amount of time I have to "make it hurt"
After my calf tightened up on me at the end of March, and my coach advised me to wait until I'd had a few runs that weren't just pain-free, but "awareness-free" as well. I scrapped the idea of making the Little Kings Mile my attempt at breaking 6:00 before I completed even a single week of my training program.
Traveling Up:
It took until the weekend before the race for me to have a few consecutive runs without awareness, but it happened. On Tuesday morning, I was feeling EXCELLENT. My tight calf had gone away, and I was starting to think I had a shot at coming close to the 6:15 I'd run at Resolution (I knew I wouldn't go any faster than that without some solid training).
... and then I got sick.
... and then my OTHER calf started feeling like it might have the precursor to a strain.
When we left for Cincy on Thursday morning, I was convinced I had strep throat and a strain in my right calf. Everything was awful. I felt like blerghityblerghblerghblerg, and was beyond upset, not just at not being able to race this weekend (I hadn't had a good run since Monday morning), but more being sick and not being able to enjoy my family vacation after a REALLY stressful first few months of the year.
Expo:
By the time we went to the expo on Friday, my throat was 80% better, though I was still constantly sucking on lozenges and now suffering from fatigue and congestion. Despite all that, I was still able to enjoy the experience. I even got a little overwhelmed at the Flying Pig merchandise area, remembering my first time there, and almost cried a little.
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| Family Photo with MY Pig |
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| the last time I saw this guy, I'd just finished my first marathon <3 |
Before Heading Out
All Friday, I'd felt the same soreness in my right calf. It felt much more similar to the calf strains I'd had previously than a "I worked hard at strength training and now my muscles are sore" soreness, and it didn't seem to be getting any better. I'd rested it as much as I could, Bio-Freezed it, iced it... wasn't stretching it, because the last time I had a minor strain and stretched, it got worse and took a few weeks to heal.
The race started at 8pm, which meant that, around 5pm, while we were beginning our dinner+bath+putdown routine for our son, I was trying to figure out what I was going to wear... for a race that was 49 degrees with torrential downpour, winds up to 15mph, and a bum calf that I desperately wanted to keep warm and protected.
By 6pm, I was asking Jerry if I was being stupid trying to run. I'd completely lost my confidence, not in my ability to go fast, but in my body's ability to run at all, and I was second-guessing everything. What if I wear the wrong thing? Should I walk to the finish and take the shuttle to the start? Should I run to the start as a warm-up? How do I get there? Is the GoogleMaps walking route safe? How long will I have to wait in the rain? Will my calf suddenly pull in the middle of the race? Why am I even running? It's cold, wet, and I'm not going to get anything out of this race because I know I can't push the pace. Is it even worth going out if, at best, I run a low-8 mile?
I didn't want to go. I didn't want to go alone. It took me awhile to realize it, but I haven't gone to a race alone EVER (Jerry couldn't come because someone had to stay with sleeping baby). Even for my very first 5K, I at least knew one other person who was going to be there. Ever since then, I've always had at least Jerry or Brandi, if not an entire Atlanta Track Club training tent/group to meet up with pre and post race. Tonight, I was going to leave our downtown loft and go somewhere completely unfamiliar to do something completely unknown all by myself. I wanted support. I wanted comfort. Most of all, I kind of wanted someone to tell me, "hey, it's okay to bail out and take a 'DNS'." ("did-not-start")
After some heart-to-heart with Jerry, and a text freakout to another friend, I resolved to go for a short run around the block. I needed to know if I could run, and I didn't want to wait an hour until my warm-up. I was so unconfident that it was going to work out, that I tucked my ID and credit card into my shorts on my way out... so that I could pick up a six pack of beer on my way home to drown my sorrows in.
I ran a little over half a mile, hyperaware of everything, constantly evaluating my steps, wondering when I would feel that familiar twinge that would send me to the liquor store on the corner. It never came. While I had a little tenderness when I would try to stretch, I felt nothing on the run.
I came back to the loft, opened the door to Jerry feeding our son dinner, and told him, "Hey, your wife and her confidence are back. Sorry 'bout that crazy person here earlier."
...but fifteen minutes later, I was spazzing again, convinced that my test run had been a total fluke and considering having a beer before the run to calm me down.
Me: I need a beer. I'm stressing again. Maybe I should make this a beer mile.
Jerry: You can't handle four beers in a day, much less a mile.
Me: Point. >_>
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| Here goes nothin' |
Ultimately, what got me out the door was texting with a friend who was also in town for the Pig. She was at dinner with her family, and sent me a picture of the mile course.
"If you race, I think the course is right outside our restaurant window."
With those words, I had support. I had someone down there. They might finish their meal before the race even started... but, then again, they might not. I needed that sense of accountability, the idea that someone might possibly be looking for me, and waiting to cheer for me, to get my butt out of the loft and down to the course
Pre-Race
I wandered down to the finish line, figuring I'd see enough people also walking/running to the start line to get where I was going. Fortunately, I wasn't wrong. I had a nice easy mile and a half warm-up where, again, I felt nothing in my calf. That helped.
I arrived about fifteen minutes early, and had to stand in the rain (which was light at the time, but still cold). I tried to keep myself warm without doing anything that could aggravate my calf, and was grateful when a couple other runners started up a conversation about my shoes with me. That helped pass the time.
Race
As the gun went off, I reminded myself that this was only four loops of a track. I tried to keep myself relaxed and just push hard enough to give a solid effort, without actually racing. Most of all, I was scared to extend my legs and let them "go", for fear of straining/pulling something. My pace for the first bit was pretty good, but it was all arms, lean, and mental.... and my arms got tired REALLY quickly.
By the first quarter mile, I was reminding myself that I really needed to do some strength training because my arms were DEAD. Just imagine how you'd be feeling if you hadn't been doing ANY.
I haven't been on the track since, like, February. The last time I even pushed myself in the least on speed was the strides last Monday, but, before that, I hadn't had anything fast since February. I had completely forgotten what it was like to go fast. My body gave out as my watch clicked the second quarter mile, and there's a nice visual of what that looked like on my Garmin pacegraph.
I was just holding on for the last half of the race, keeping my feet under me, still scared to extend my legs at all and try to harness that strength to propel myself forward. I wanted to stop. I wanted to walk. I wanted to just be done with everything.
And then I heard a "Go Angelina" as we came into the final stretch. My friend Shelly was still at the restaurant with her family, and had come out to the deck to cheer for me in the cold and in the rain, and, man, I needed that so badly.
I managed the littlest of kicks thanks to her voice as I crossed the line. The only thing I could think about was getting through the chute and up there to thank her. Well, that and how much my throat hurt. While I didn't end up being able to find her in the crowd, I felt so much less "alone" heading home than I would have otherwise.
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| freeze frame from the finish line live feed |
The walk back to the loft was less than a mile, but it was miserable. I was cold. I was sore. I felt like I might throw up from the effort I'd exerted, which was weird, because I still feel like that was not a race effort. It was effort, but I didn't allow my legs to try, so all the effort was in my upper body and head. I was coughing, partially from effort, and partially from illness. I had no one to lean on, no phone to call/text anyone and connect to, no warm-ups to put on, no umbrella... just me, myself, and the fact that I was now the sort of runner who considered a 6:34 mile to be a "bad race".
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