Proof of progress

I am hoping that later on in the season I can look back at this past weekend as the turning point in my triumphant return. Only time will tell. But for now, I can at least look at it as a step in the right direction and the first race that has surprised me in a good way in probably at least a year and a half. I might even dare to say that I had fun. Ok, I did have fun at one race this past September when I managed to win, but it was a tiny little local sprint with mostly first-timers, so you really can't take that one too seriously.

Winter made a little return at the end of last week thanks to some sneaky little snowstorms that gave us just enough to ruin riding outside again for a while. Saturday started out kind of nice because I did not have to spend nearly 6 hours going nowhere in the basement, but rather a mere hour and ten minutes in preparation for my race. Then came the best part: carbo-loading! Most of my favorite carbo-licious treats have been out of the rotation for the past three months in favor of trying to get rid of this pesky excess weight, but it was determined that due to the race and the long ride I'd be doing afterward, I could finally indulge in the non-Atkins-friendly goodness. (I am by no means on Atkins, by the way.) So after my ride I fired up the griddle, mixed up some batter and made myself some pancakes. I sliced up some bananas and added those in, which for me is the only way to go. My true specialty is chocolate chip banana pancakes, but there was no need to go overboard.

After my delicious breakfast I spent some time in front of the TV with a fire in the woodstove debating whether or not I'd rather fall back asleep or just get the drive down to the Cape over with. Unfortunately, when I know something needs to be done, I can never relax enough to sleep. So I packed up the car and headed south. Well, after I had a cinnamon raisin bagel around lunch time, another sorely missed treat.

The original plan had me riding my bike outside after the race with several of the QT2 teammates, but the weather had other plans. Instead, we would all ride our trainers together in the Snow's basement given that it was going to rain. Of course then it was determined that in New Hampshire it was going to snow, and given that every time it has snowed this winter there seems to be a 30-50-car pile-up on I-93, I knew I was probably going to have to finish the race and jump in the car and drive straight home, especially given the awesome handling of my not-so-winter-adequate Nissan Sentra in the snow. I'm luckly to get out of my own driveway with an inch or two on the ground, so you can imagine how my car would do on a long drive through the heavy snow they were predicting. Still, the weather forecast tends to change quick around here. I mean, just a few days earlier it was going to be partly cloudy and in the 30's on race day, so who knew? I decided to pack my bike and trainer anyway, and even clothes to ride outside. Of course, now I wish I hadn't bothered.

After a pretty painless ride down through Boston with minimal traffic and staring at the crystal clear sky and wondering why it wouldn't stick around for just another day, I made it to Hyannis in just over two hours. In spite of my New England upbringing, I have minimal experience on the Cape. I had been in September for a race that wound up being canceled during a hurricane, so instead spent the weekend with some friends playing mini-golf in the rain and knocking some pins down at what we determined is the oldest bowling alley in the United States. Or at the very least the one that has gone the longest without a little makeover. Before that I hadn't been down there since the summer before my senior year in college when I spent a few weeks with some friends shooting a movie and surfing. That is actually where I celebrated my 21st birthday. It wasn't too interesting though because I never cared about drinking, but my friends brought me out anyway, but since it was just a little early in the season almost nothing was open and I wound up ordering a mud slide at a chinese restaurant, taking one sip and letting someone else finish it. And before that I hadn't been to the Cape since my grandparents owned a house down there. I have a few vague memories of seeing their house, mistaking my Nana's pills for candy, and riding on the back of my Dad's banana yellow ten-speed in one of those baby seats. If you don't know me, you will learn that my memory is a little bit ridiculous.

So anyway, I went to the expo to pick up my number. I checked out a few of the expo things and they had some good shoe deals, but nobody ever seems to carry women's size 12 for my giant feet. And truly I am an 11.5, which nearly doesn't even exist. Oh well, I've learned to deal with it. So it was back in the car and another 30 minutes east to Orleans where I was staying. My friend Kevin offered up his parents house that we all stayed at in September for that race that never happened since nobody was going to be there, so I figured driving 30 minutes on race morning would be better than over two hours and I am happy with that decision. It was a little bit lonely there with nobody else, but also made it very relaxing. For some reason people seem to think it would be kind of spooky to stay alone in a house like that, but I don't see it that way at all. You wouldn't believe how quiet the Cape is in February. It was pretty nice, actually. For dinner I had a turkey sandwich. I could've had pasta, but that would've required cooking and dishes, and given the fact that one of my goals for the weekend was to leave the house as though I had never been there, I opted for the less-messy sandwich and its equally adequate carb/protein content.

I slept great, but I suspect even if I had been required to sleep in my car that might've been the case since I was just that tired. But the comfortable bed certainly helped the situation. The good thing about winter races is that they tend to start later in the day, so unlike a triathlon where you often have to actually be there long before a 7am start to set up your transition area or whatever, I just had to show up about an hour before a 10am start, which sure made things easier. If the race hadn't had 4000 competitors I wouldn't have even gotten there that early. I was able to sleep in until 6:30 and had plenty of time to erase all traces of my existence, drink plenty of water, eat my pre-race breakfast and use a private bathroom with running water long before arriving at the race site. Much better than leaving really early, driving two hours and trying to eat breakfast on the way.

I got myself dressed and tried to decide what I should wear, opting for shorts in case it rained because really your legs are no warmer if they are covered with sopping wet running tights, even if it did mean showing off my pasty-white legs. I made it to the race in about half an hour and found myself a nice parking space just a short walk from the convention center where the race started. I used to go to races by myself all the time, but in the past couple of years I almost always go with someone I know, but lately have been back to arriving alone, so I'm getting used to that again. But it didn't take me long to spot some of my teammates who I don't really know all that well yet, but at least I recognized them. This was after I waited in a very, very long line for the bathroom, but at least it wasn't an emergency and I knew I'd be quick. After more aimless sitting around I decided it was time to get out of my nice, warm clothes, stash my backpack and head out into the cold and get into another long line for a porta-potty. There were definitely not enough of those for a 4000-runner race. And of course I seemed to pick the worst possible line, because there was an individual line for each unit, and everyone in mine seemed to be in there for a while. I propose an express line for these races, #1 only. The clock was ticking and I figured I could run the race while having to pee, but why would I want to? I got in just in time and snuck into the front area of the start line, somewhere in the middle between the signs for 7 and 8-minute miles rather than getting into the back towards the 12+ in the sea of people that stretched on forever.

This was it, time to race. I was sort of indifferent. Lately I have had no idea what to expect from myself in these races. My body has been unreliable to say the least. I had been given my goal time, a 1:41. I thought that was going to be a serious stretch... or, maybe I actually thought it was completely impossible. In the past my half-marathon times are usually around 1:34, typically coming off some ridiculous bike ride the day before. My fastest was 1:32, but that was at the Mooseman half ironman, and although I have inquired and been informed that the course is certified, I have serious doubts that is the case. So you'd think I'd have no problem with a 1:41. Well, things change. The last half marathon I truly ran was a year ago at Hampton in which I ran a 1:40 after crashing and burning halfway through. I was incredibly disappointed. Little did I know how much worse it would get. It wasn't long after that race that I got injured. My first race back was the Big Lake half marathon. My sacroilliac joint still hurt, but I could finally run after 6 weeks off. I had been running for about 10 days with a "long run" of 6 miles. But I couldn't stand the thought of not running. I finished in 1:56 or 1:57 with my legs screaming at me because they weren't ready for that. I had been passed by hordes of people and wanted to cry at the end. Oh, but I bettered that one with a 2:17 "run" split at Mooseman in June where I melted in the heat. And the ultimate, my 2:50 at Timberman where I spent more time on the run course than the bike course and spent the last 6.55 miles walking slowly with my head pointed down in defeat, glad to be wearing my sunglasses to hide the embarrassing tears.

So yeah, a 1:41 seemed a little out of my reach as I set up on the start line. But I was just going to do the best I could. I saw my teammates lined up at the front and hoped that when they finished they wouldn't waste time waiting for me, and knew they'd do well. If nothing else at least I've got some people to inspire me. They counted us down and finally the race set off under overcast skies and temperatures in the low 40's.

Hey, after all of that, I finally got to the part where I'm running. There's probably not going to be anyone still reading, but here it is anyway. I was told to do the first mile in 7:33 and no faster, then settle in to 7:35-7:40 the rest of the way. For someone who just recently started running under 9:00/mile in training, I have no recollection of what a 7:33 mile feels like. I honestly didn't think I was capable of running a single 7:45 mile anymore, let alone 13 in a row. But I was more rested than I'd been in a very long time and I had some extra carbs in my system, so I just ran at a pace that felt comfortably hard. It was tight in the first mile or so since there were so many people, and I got to pass Dick and Rick Hoyt in the first mile. I checked my heart rate monitor and it said 55. Um, I don't think that's working quite right. Either that or I am really, really aerobically efficient. Or about to die. So I just continued running until I finally saw the little orange sign on the side of the road that marked mile 14. The marathon would be two loops, so just after that I passed mile 1 and checked my watch. 7:20. Well, I guess I can run sub-8-minute miles and not make my lungs explode in the process, but wow, that was much faster than I was supposed to go.

This is a common problem of mine. In my better days (you know, way back when I was like, 27 instead of 29) I would often start out half marathons at a 6:45 pace and even hold 7's for a while. It never got me any better than 7:10 average, so you can see what I'm up against. Maybe one day I'll learn. It just feels so good at the beginning. I didn't really know what to do. For a brief moment, I thought maybe I will just shatter my goals and be able to hold up the whole time, but that thought was fleeting. I just tried to settle in and find something that was comfortable, but not too slow, but not too hard. I hit mile 2 in 7:26. Hmmm... slightly better, but still too fast. What do I do now? At that point I just kind of hung in there and tried to do whatever I could do at the given moment and going back and forth between thinking I was going to crash and burn by mile 5 and thinking that maybe, just maybe I'd actually be able to hang on and have a good race.

The course was pretty flat, although it did have a few little hills to break things up. We ran a bit along the ocean and actually got a little boost from the wind early on. Anytime we passed a mile marker in the double digits representing the marathon second loop I was more and more grateful that I only had to run the loop once. I lost track of each individual mile split, but started doing the overall math and by mile 6 I think I was still holding a 7:30 pace overall, but my quads were starting to get mad at me. I haven't done any speedwork and I really don't remember how to run fast, and even though I wasn't running fast, to my legs it felt that way. Initially I actually felt strong running up the few inclines on the course, but those were becoming more and more difficult. I just wanted to hang on. The miles continued to tick by and I was more and more happy to get closer to the end. It was the first time I've felt like I was really running in a very, very long time. I got passed more and more often by people who are much better at managing their race paces from start to finish, but I hadn't yet completely collapsed, so I considered that a good sign.

Somewhere around mile 8 or so my legs were really starting to burn and I opted to walk through an aid station just enough to clear the lactic acid, get some water and be ready to go for it again. I hate walking in races, but it is a tactic I have unfortunately had to utilize lately just to get through them. The strategy seemed to pay off as I was able to get running again. One particular later mile I really lost some time, but I was determined to keep going. The wind seemed to turn into a headwind after about mile 10, which is sort of a mean thing to do, not to mention the general trend toward upward inclines, so subtle that you might not have even noticed had you not just raced for 10 miles. The miles certainly got slower and slower, but the further I went the more confident I was that I was not going to completely melt down. A check of the watch told me that my 1:41 goal was shot barring some major miracle, but I wasn't going to be too far off. I certainly wasn't going to be anywhere near two hours, which is probably what I would've expected for myself given my recent awesome running ability.

Mile 12. Almost home. I didn't feel too bad. At the outside I maybe had to run for 8 more minutes. Surely I could hold on for 8 more minutes. When I was about 10 miles in I figured most of my teammates were probably about to be finished, but last year I'd've thought that at mile 9, so at least I was improving. I turned a corner and heard someone say that we had half a mile to go. I actually found a little second wind and maybe even sped up a little... or at least felt like I did. I saw Tim and Cait Snow running towards me in the opposite direction on their cooldown run, both having just taken the overall win and they cheered me on which gave me a little boost. I actually smiled. I can't tell you the last time I smiled while running in a race. Lately it's just been trying to hide my embarrassment.

The finish line was cruelly set at the top of a little hill, but at that point, I didn't care. I crossed the line in 1:43. A year ago I would've thought that to be a disaster, but this time, I was thrilled. It's nowhere near a PR. It's nowhere near where I should be. But I ran hard, I felt better than I have in over a year and I actually did better than I thought I would. I haven't done better than I thought I would since I won Lake Placid. In fact, lately it has been taking my worst nightmare finish and actually making it worse. I ran a time that would embarrass most of my friends - slower in fact than their training pace, let alone race pace - but I was happy. It finally made me feel like I'm on the right track and that I actually might be able to get faster again. Like I said, I am hoping this was the turning point.

I headed inside and ran into my coach and had to confess my poor race management and that I had gone out too fast, but he seemed happy and had figured I'd go out too fast. I threw on a jacket and went out for a cooldown run, the first few steps of which were only slightly faster than walking, but once I loosened up I was ok. It started sprinkling at that point and I was glad to have finished before it started raining. Unfortunately I had to almost immediately get in the car and leave to beat the snowstorm that we were supposed to get north of the border, so I said goodbye and hit the road.

After driving through the rain and easily beating the snow, I had to unload the bike and trainer and ride for four hours. I've never done that before, and it wasn't much fun. I actually had a headache for about the last hour, but at 7:30 I was finally done. The snow had begun and I was glad to be home, but too tired to have dinner so instead I had a banana and went to sleep.

I was actually excited about training. I might just be able to surprise myself in a good way this year. The impending "blizzard" that had been talked up left us with about 1-2" so I had no trouble making it to the pool Monday morning, I just had a little trouble walking down the stairs to get there. Well-earned post-race soreness. And finally, after a 90-minute ride, day 14 on the bike, I could relax, for today is a total REST DAY. You know, by the end of the day on a rest day I get antsy, but in the morning, when I'm lying comfortably in my bed and I roll over to look at the clock before the sun comes up and know that I don't have to get up, I think it is better than Christmas. I mean, on Christmas I had to ride my trainer. It would get old fast, but once a month I will gladly take it.

So there you go. Finally a good race, a positive experience and something to show me that I'm headed in the right direction. And obviously I've gotten better at keeping things in perspective, because you can't magically run your old times when you're way fatter and more out of shape, but you can continue to move back towards the fitter, faster you. Now it doesn't seem quite so impossible.