The goal was surprisingly within reach both physically and mentally through the first five miles. I ran seven-minute miles through the first three. That was encouraging because that's my usual pace on a flat course. I figured I wasn't giving 100 percent yet and had plenty left in the tank for the remaining 10 miles.
Then, supposedly, I ran a 5:45 fourth mile. I'm thinking instead the course was mismarked, because 5:45 is really fast for me, even on a track. Another mile later, I was still running around a cumulative 6:50 pace, about what's needed to finish in 1:30.
But my legs began to get sore at about that time, which is too early for that to be happening. Typically when I get tired, I notice more of an up-and-down component to my form, which is a waste of energy. This time, however, my stride had shortened. I tried stretching it out a bit, but found it difficult. Just like it was abnormal for soreness to be creeping in so soon, it was out of the ordinary for me to be trying to mentally override what my body was telling me.
I do a good job during both my races and everyday runs here at home of remaining aware of what my body is experiencing. I have never run with music because I find the sounds of my feet hitting the ground and my breath to be soothing. Plus, it makes it easier to quickly become aware of, diagnose, and rectify issues with my form and whatnot.
As it turned out, the problem was the course's impact on my form. I am typically up on my toes when I run. It's not something I do by design; it's just always been comfortable. And I've talked about the braces I wore on my feet and calves for some time during junior high to "fix" my toe-walking affliction.
Running downhill, however, makes it very hard to stay up on my toes. The tendency is to go heel to toe, heel to toe. Which is fine, except when I have to do it for 13.1 miles. And that was yesterday's problem. I tried in vain multiple times to revert back to my toes. Whether it was the blister I could feel forming on my left foot or the overall discomfort of forcing a style that was not conducive to the situation, it didn't work. My 1:30 goal quickly faded, as did breaking my personal best time of 1:32:14 from Brookings.
More folks than usual passed me during the latter stages of the race, which I hated. But it makes sense since I had a certain pace in mind, which I was only able to maintain for less than half the run. I finished in 1:35:20, good enough for 28th out of 150 to 200 runners. (The official results haven't been posted yet, and I didn't stick around long enough for everyone to cross the finish.)
Don't get me wrong, it's still a good time. The course was the exact opposite of what works best for my body. The race started at close to 5,000 feet in elevation. Plus, it was pretty dry. But I know I'm making excuses because I'm disappointed and I feel as though I've regressed. And what's worse is that my race sadness allowed some negative thoughts to creep into my head about some personal stuff going on. (Don't worry, it's nothing bad. Just things I don't want and shouldn't have to deal with.) So, a full-fledged pity party had broken out.
But it's situations like this that are conducive to learning a lesson or two (or three, in this case). First, I will never run this or any other all-downhill race ever again. It's not as fun as it seems. Second, I have a month and a half to ramp-up my training for the Sioux Falls Half Marathon. I know that course fairly well from runs I've done while on the town's circumferential bike path. (Circumferential - what a great word!) My goal is doable. And third, I need to be training at elevation. This won't be rectified right away considering my VISTA and grad school plans. But it needs to happen.
I guess there's a fourth lesson in here too. At some point, my half marathon times are going to plateau. I mean, I can't keep setting a new PR with each race I complete, which was the case up until yesterday morning. It's best I deal with these feelings now as opposed to the day, long into the future hopefully, when my body can't perform to my standards.
Emotionally, the race is in the past. In the grand scheme of things, it was just a race, after all. My quads are tight today, but some stretching will cure that. And I'm looking to the future. I know from my softball experience I'm able to turn frustration and anger into results on the field. Hopefully, I can do the same in Sioux Falls on September 13th.
P.S. I'm not usually so concerned with my race times. I judge my performance mostly on how I feel afterward. But I consider the half marathon "my distance." And it's the only one in which I have not only set a specific goal, but a lofty one at that.
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