Big Weekend Workout(s)

Saturday, May 3rd
9am: Target: 8-10 mile progression from 7:00-6:20
Actual: 9.75 miles w/8 steady @6:26 avg. (7:12, 6:26, 6:29, 6:26, 6:29, 6:23, 6:28, 6:19, 6:27, .75 @7:15 pace)
4pm: Target: 10 miles @MP (6:05-6:10)
Actual: 2.25 mile w/u
10 miles @61:00/6:06 avg. (6:14, 6:06, 6:08, 6:06, 6:04, 6:07, 6:00, 6:06, 6:03, 6:03)
.5 mile c/d
Total: 12.75
Daily total: 22.5

Sunday, May 4th
2.25 mile w/u
Run for HAWC "5 Miler" in 29:40 (actually 4.82): 5:55, 6:06, 6:10, 6:20, 5:08 @6:15 pace 
1st place female; $150
3 mile c/d
Total: 10 miles

Weekly total: 95

Whew! Just writing down all the above details took a considerable amount of energy. The fact that all three of these workouts took place within a 24-hour period means I definitely earned the 2+ hour nap with my kitty this afternoon! I'm glad to have this monster block behind me and even more pleased with the outcome.

If you've been following my blog for a while (and if you haven't, what else could you possibly have been doing with your spare time??), you know that usually once a training block I embark on a "double workout day." In the past, this has typically consisted of something shorter and faster in the morning, like a 10k tempo, followed by a longer effort at marathon pace in the evening. The focus is always on the second session, with the objective being to simulate the fatigue of the marathon and practice running fast on already heavy legs. Before Philly, I crushed both sessions and achieved arguably the greatest distinction of my running career, dropping a half-injured, totally unfit Jordan twice in one day. Prior to CIM, I had to get creative due to weather and ended up pounding out a 10k tempo on the indoor track at Harvard (that's a cool 50 laps) and then struggling mightily during a solo point-to-point tempo in hurricane force winds later that afternoon.

This time around, Coach Jordan was either feeling unusually beneficent or seriously doubting my fitness, because he scheduled my morning workout as a fairly relaxed uptempo run rather than something faster than marathon race pace. We set out together on our familiar "double bridge loop," a loop in the true sense of the word that runs from Salem to Beverly and back again without ever doubling over itself. This route is not particularly fast, with plenty of zigs and zags and several rolling sections, but that was sort of the point. Jordan wanted this to feel as much like a "normal" run as possible, allowing my legs to settle into pace naturally. Fortunately I had no problem doing so, and save for a few tricky sections--a gusty incline up the Beverly Bridge in mile 7, and Jordan sprinting to (unsuccessfully) chase down a curmudgeonly driver who honked at us in mile 2--this felt like a jog. The pace fluctuated naturally with the terrain and wind direction, and I never felt like I was pressing or strained. With my legs only moderately fatigued, I was confident round two would be a breeze.

After what seemed like only a few short hours of lounging around trolling the interwebs, Sarah arrived at our door ready for the marathon paced tempo. Have I mentioned how glad I am that she decided to stick things out after a disappointing Boston and run Vermont with me?? With our queenmaker at the helm, we set off on a course that would take us from Salem into Marblehead and back with a short addition at the end. There was only one problem: I was dying. From the outset. My legs felt heavy, my breathing was short and erratic, and I was by no means comfortable at the pace I was supposed to be able to maintain for almost three hours. In hindsight, I think this was because we were charging straight into a 15-mph headwind down an unusually busy street (damn you nice weather for bringing the Salem tourists out in droves). If nothing else, I can find solace in the fact that there's no possible way the marathon will be this much of a cluster--weaving in and out of cars and pedestrians, creatively crossing busy intersections, ignoring various and sundry catcalls (and the creepy guy who drove sloooowly alongside us for almost a quarter mile blasting terrible '90s music like some sort of unrequited soundtrack). This run was neither easy nor particularly fun for me, but all that matters is we got it done on the faster end of our desired pace range and still had enough energy to walk over to our favorite neighborhood pub for a celebratory drink afterward.

Needless to say, I woke up on Sunday morning without the desire to move, much less run, much less run quickly. However, it had been brought to my attention earlier in the week that a race was taking place in Salem that started and finished less than half a mile from our house and offered a tempting $150 prize purse. How could we not jog over and give it a shot?? But after shuffling through two creaky warmup miles at a blistering 8:15 pace, I was less than optimistic. If attaining the victory meant running a single step under six minute pace, I was screwed. Fortunately, all our hopes and dreams came true. No one showed up and the course was short! In fact, my new friend Mariah, whom I met through Larissa last weekend, decisively took second--and she was only running the race as part of her long run. As expected, my legs were utterly and completely trashed and I artfully executed a textbook positive split. (A stiff headwind for the entire second half didn't exactly help.) If yesterday's afternoon effort was meant to feel like the second half of a marathon, this morning definitely felt like the last five miles.

Not a bad way to start the morning: JoKin and I both bringing home the W (and the Benjamins)

But overall, I'm pleased. And tired. Very, very tired. The upcoming week will be a delicate balance of recovering from this weekend's shenanigans and still stringing together one more big chunk of high mileage and respectable workouts before starting the gradual taper process. It all hinges on a very unscientific combination of compression socks, pizza, Nuun, kale smoothies and wine.

T-minus three weeks! 

better than water

Read More

Two Races, Two Ass Kickings

It's true what they say (and by "they" I mean I'm saying it now): there's nothing quite like a few solid wallopings to really motivate you to get in shape. As a bonus, I had the pleasure of getting thoroughly spanked two weekends in a row, and suffice it to say I'm experiencing a new resolve to work hard and ensure that the same thing doesn't happen (or at least, not quite so handily) the next time around.

To be fair, these dismal outcomes were hardly unexpected, considering pretty much my entire winter of "training" has unfolded like this:

Jordan: What day can you workout this week? Wednesday?
Meagan: (checks weather app) Looks like another storm is moving in Tuesday night. And I'm traveling Thursday. Better make it Tuesday.
J: Okay, Tuesday morning?
M: (expands hourly detail in weather app) The wind chill is going to be single digits. I doubt I can run fast then. Want to go at lunch?
J: Sure, but I have a meeting at 12. Can we go at 1?
M: No, I have a meeting at 2. How about we cut out a little early and go at 4?
J: Perfect.
M: (3pm, looks outside incredulously, then glares at blatantly deceptive weather app, then looks outside again) Son of a! It already started snowing!
J: (doubtfully, furrows brow) Maybe it will stop.
M: (3:45pm, looks outside again) Well, you're right, it stopped snowing...and now it's sleeting. The roads are going to be a mess already.
J: Want to go jog five miles on the treadmill?
M: Duh.

Last weekend, I participated in the Mercedes-Benz Marathon Weekend in Birmingham, AL for the fourth consecutive year. This race holds a special place in my heart, as it's where I snuck under the radar and nabbed my Trials qualifier in 2011. (It's also the only race expo I've ever worked where the partner retailer calls me in advance to ask what kind of wine I'd like to drink while working their expo because they know I don't drink beer. Trak Shak, you complete me.) I then came back to win the half in 2012 and placed second in the half last year, so despite my lack of fitness I illogically had high hopes for another podium finish this time around. But alas, it was not to be. Local standout Erica Speegle ran a 2+ minute PR to finish in 1:15-mid, with my friend Jeannette Faber a close second in 1:15:53 (or 1:16:05 depending on which results you look at; obviously, runner code dictates we agree upon the faster time). I shuffled along in fourth place, also known as "first sucker who just misses out on a giant check," managing 6-minute pace on the rolling course. It was neither my fastest nor slowest run there but my first time out of the money, which never feels great.

Yet the weekend was not all for naught. I road tripped back to Nashville with Jeannette and got in a few quality double-digit runs in the delightfully sunny, snow-free environs of a more temperate climate. "This is it!" I told myself triumphantly as I boarded my on-time flight back to Boston (via Philadelphia) on Tuesday morning. "This is the turning point when I stop grabassing around and start getting serious about my spring training!" Fast forward to three hours, a canceled flight and a few delays later, and I found myself cursing Mother Nature yet again and drowning my sorrows in a surprisingly delightful combination of Chick-Fil-A waffle fries and $6 pinot grigio in Concourse C of PHL. Literally and figuratively, thanks to the hellacious winter I just cannot win right now.

And yet, inexplicably, this weekend I found myself begging for more. My sometimes training partner and oftentimes Gchat companion Sarah Bard tipped me off that she was planning to make the 2+ hour trek to Amherst on Sunday for the first race in the USATF-NE Grand Prix series, the Jones 10 Miler. Seeing this as an opportunity for a forced extended tempo with possible prize money (and an excuse for post-race brunch), I agreed to join. "After all," Sarah confidently and rhetorically assured me, "how many fast people are going to want to drive all the way to Amherst for a ridiculously hilly 10-miler in the middle of February?" Well, as it turned out, quite a few. In the time it took me to park, make my way to registration and fork over the $45 entry fee (which included nothing, least of all a t-shirt (not that I wanted one, but it's the principle), except my race number and a few questionably rusty safety pins), I'd already spotted at least a half dozen women who had beaten me or come pretty darn close to doing so at various races over the past year. My previously optimistic plan to "stick my nose in there and contend for the win" was summarily downgraded to "shoot for top 10," blowing straight past "place in the top three" and coming dangerously close to the graveyard of "win my age group." On the now-somber warmup, Sarah and I bumped into a trio of formidable Maine runners, Sheri Piers, Kristin Barry and Erica Jesseman, all of whom have faster PRs than me at approximately every distance. As we jogged, Sheri joked (but seriously) that last year's winner, Irish Olympian Steph Reilly, stated afterward that it was the "f#$&ing hardest race ever." Seeing as, in case you glossed over that part, she's an Olympian, this information didn't exactly do anything to alleviate my apprehension.

At the outset, however, things progressed swimmingly. The first two miles, and in particular the second mile, were largely downhill (feel free to see this as foreshadowing for the latter part of the course), and other than a few tiptoe-inducing icy turns it was smooth sailing. A brief glance at my watch indicated I'd comfortably split two miles in 11:37 and was among the top three or four females. Unfortunately, the fun and games all came to an abrupt halt during the third and fourth miles, which I had been warned in advance were drastic uphills. (Mercifully, I forgot to wear my new Garmin and also neglected to peek at the third mile split (possibly because I was 100% focused on trying not to walk), but I learned later that Erica--who, keep in mind, was already a good distance ahead of me at this point--split a whopping 7:00.) Just when the road leveled out and the torture was seemingly over (for the time being), we turned onto a dirt road. This would not be noteworthy except for the fact that the past few days' slightly milder, rainy weather had resulted in much of the snow melting (and our condo building's basement flooding, but that's neither here nor there) but also, paradoxically, icing over many sections of road. So what in better times might simply be an innocuous dusty detour was now a half icy, half muddy mess. Within seconds, everyone in sight was slipping around and splattered shoulder to ankle with mud. The next few miles were dangerous at worst, frustrating at best, and I passed the halfway point in 30:30--almost 90 seconds slower than I'd eclipsed the same marker at Mercedes a week prior. I'd managed to hemorrhage almost a full minute in the past few miles and was feeling worse with each passing second. Punishing hills, ice, mud, potholes; this wasn't a road race, it was a 10-mile cross-country course!

Fortunately, miles 6-8 led us back onto pavement and were gradually downhill, and I somehow clawed my way back to a slightly sub-6 average with two to go. But lest there be any danger of me finishing in a respectable time, we then merged back onto the original road from whence we came and faced a punishing uphill for the next mile and a half. By the time I crossed the line fourth (and winning my age group, holla!) in 60:30 I was equal parts convinced that I was going to really start training now or never run another step for the rest of my life. (It is worth noting at this point that I am subsequently leaning toward the latter option given that winner Megan Hogan ran 55:30 and obliterated the almost 30-year-old course record previously set by Nancy Conz, who for the record was no slouch herself. I can confidently say that there will be no point in my running career at which I am capable of such flagrant badassery.)

But seriously, you guys. It's time for me to get in shape.

Read More

Yankee Homecoming 10 Mile Race Recap

AM: 4 miles easy
PM: 1.5 mile w/u
Target: Top 4; 60-61 mins.
Actual: 5th; 61:33 (including bathroom break)
Results
1 mile c/d
Total: 13 miles
Daily total: 17 miles

Coming off of my highest mileage week in the better part of a year, I really had no idea how this race would go. I haven't done a 10-mile race or tempo effort in quite some time, and I certainly wasn't tapering for the effort. Between Sunday's long trail run and Tuesday night's race, I managed to shuffle three short, easy runs around Salem, fervently willing my legs to miraculously spring to life. They didn't. Fortunately, the weather was on my side. After a hot, muggy Sunday and Monday, the humidity lifted and brought milder weather on Tuesday morning. Apparently this race is almost always run on what seems like the hottest day of the year, but that would not be the case for this edition. Warm and sunny, sure, but nothing like the conditions we've battled on runs and races in recent weeks.

Jordan and I snuck out of the office just past 4pm and hit the road for Newburyport. It would be at least a 40-minute drive, and we wanted to make sure there was plenty of time to locate parking, grab my number and jog around for a few minutes. No sooner had we turned on a side street near the race start/finish at Newburyport High School did we spot Brian Harvey, Stef Penn and Ian Nurse--all Boston-dwelling BAA friends--and another BAA runner, Melissa, who had hitched a ride with them. After grabbing my number we jogged along the waterfront together, chatting about the race and discussing our collective odds of finishing in the money. Both Brian and I were chagrined to learn that several B-level Africans were in attendance, as were accomplished New England runners Heidi Westover and Matt Pelletier. My "rock-bottom" goal of finishing fourth and barely earning back more than my entry fee was now looking like the best case scenario.

The 5k took off at 6pm, with the 10-mile field lining up 10 minutes later. Just before the start, I also spotted the two women who had beaten me when I was seeing stars on the sidelines during the Seacoast Seven last weekend. I was confident I should be able to beat them in normal (i.e., non-heat wave) conditions, but nonetheless I found myself growing even more dejected. What I'd naively hoped would be a lighthearted romp was now turning grimly serious. A few seconds later, we were off--and were we ever. I'd been warned by Ian that the first mile was fast--both due to the flat/downhill terrain, and to the excessive eagerness of the racers--and his assessment was proven accurate. I split 5:45 and was well off the back of the lead Africans, and of Heidi, and of the two women from the Seacoast race. This was a terrible idea, I thought, not for the last time. My mood did not improve two miles later when we came upon the slower end of the 5k field in downtown Newburyport and I spent the better part of ten minutes zigging and zagging this way and that in order to avoid bulldozing the young, the old, the infirm and the four-legged. I'm no race director, but if I were in charge I might suggest a larger buffer than 10 minutes between the two events' start times. Just a thought.

Around four miles in my pace and effort began to normalize, but for the first time I felt my stomach begin to rumble ominously. Pretend it's not happening, I instructed myself, as if that's ever actually worked before. I'd since passed one of the Seacoast Seven women, but the other one--and any other female competitors--was nowhere to be seen. The downtown spectator crowds had dwindled as we approached a quieter residential area, but there were still clumps of people grouped at regular intervals near street crossings and in front yards. It would've been a welcome diversion, had another diversion of sorts not been brewing down below. No sooner had I split five miles (just a few ticks under 30 minutes) and begun running uphill did I begin scanning the perimeter, head on a swivel, for any secluded wooded areas or sections of particularly dense foliage that were also far enough away from the improbably large crowds--since when are there spectators at a random road race on a Tuesday night?!--to not permanently scar any impressionable young children. (A personal aside: My wonderful mom, who has recently purchased a laptop computer for the first time in her life and has since become a regular reader of my blog despite having no personal proclivity towards running, finds the idea of doing one's business in a Port-a-Potty disgusting. She is a layperson. I get it. In her mind, it's on par with the equally inconceivable idea of using the restroom on a plane. Mom, I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but it is a stone-cold reality of my life as a runner that a Port-a-Potty is often best case scenario. As it turns out, I sometimes use the bathroom in the woods. And by "sometimes," I mean all the time. And by "all the time," I am including mile 7 of this race. Please don't view this as any parenting failure on your part.) Was I still running? Sure. Was my head in the metaphorical game? Hardly. I barely even noticed the rolling terrain, or the fact that I was swiftly gaining on the other Seacoast Seven runner. There were more pressing issues to attend to.

Once I did, and was back on the road again, I found an inexplicable second wind. Sure, my legs were heavy, but there were only three miles to go and the most challenging terrain was behind us. At one point a few minutes later, a bystander had pointed to me and yelled, "You're fifth female!" Shortly thereafter, I'd passed the other Seacoast Seven woman (who subsequently appeared to drop out), and though I'm no math whiz I knew that meant I'd be finishing in the money. There were no other women in sight, but a furtive backward glance told me there were none gaining either. Knowing I had another race in less than 48 hours, I resisted the urge to press the pace and instead relaxed into a comfortably hard effort for the remainder of the run. I was less than a mile from the finish when another spectator cheered, "You're almost there! Fifth place!" Waaaait a minute. How did that happen?! I was so confused that I literally held up five fingers toward him and reiterated, "Five?" Perhaps I'd misunderstood. But no, he nodded in agreement and gave me a vigorous thumbs up, apparently unaware that this was the worst possible news I could've received at this juncture. Somehow the previous person had miscounted. To be honest, it wouldn't have mattered--results would later confirm I was over two minutes behind fourth place finisher Heidi Westover--but still, the distinction was disappointing. I'd hoped to at least finish on the podium, and that was clearly not happening.

As I rounded the final bend and charged the uphill finish into the high school parking lot and toward the finish line, a glance at the clock confirmed I would finish well outside my goal time. Zero for two, awesome. But despite failing to achieve either of the objectives I'd listed at the outset, I was not nearly as dejected as one would expect. If you subtract my bathroom detour, I would've come in right at 61-flat, no small feat considering I could barely shuffle through four easy miles this morning. Don't get me wrong; racing 10 miles slower than marathon pace is always humbling, regardless of any asterisks applied to the effort. But with over 10 weeks to until Hartford and a 100% healthy body, I'm confident I can get there. And I'll definitely return to this terrific local event again to redeem myself!

P.S. Later that evening, we ate dinner with Brian (fellow fifth-placer), Ian (dropped out) and Stef (bum glute) at a divey sports bar called Winners. It wasn't, and we weren't, and the irony was not lost on us. But they did make a mean pizza burger.

Read More

Black Cat 10 Miler

3 mile w/u
Target: 10 mile tempo @60-61 mins.
Actual: 60:48; first place female
Results
3 mile c/d
Total: 16 miles

Late last week I discovered that a 10- and 20-mile race would be taking place today in Salem, with the same start/finish and most of the same course as the half-marathon I ran last fall. I wasn't necessarily looking for a true race-level effort, but I knew that lacing 'em up in a competitive environment would result in a much higher quality workout than I was likely to undertake on my own. Not only did Jordan feel the same way, but he apparently decided that he wouldn't truly get his money's worth without tackling the 20-miler. To each his own.

After running from my house to the race start (which is the best setup ever), I met my BAA friend Liz for the remainder of the warmup. As we stripped down our outer layers and tossed them in the back of her friend's car, she mentioned that there was a $150 purse for first place. While not a staggering amount (I won $300 at the half-marathon, which was put on by the same company), it was noteworthy information simply because I hadn't seen anything about cash prizes on the web site or race collateral. If my original game plan was to run a hard tempo, my new objective was to run a hard enough tempo to win the darn thing.

As we stood for a ridiculously long time on the starting line, I had a few minutes to catch up with running friends from the BAA and the Salem Wicked group. Kevin, an Irish BAA transplant and Craft aficionado, is training for Boston and was hoping for an honest but controlled workout today. From the gun, I took off with him and vowed to hang on as long as possible. The first few miles were comfortable and conversational as we ran through downtown Salem toward Marblehead, but even early on I could tell my legs were still tired from Thursday's 800s. The turnaround point came in the Devereux Beach parking lot around 4.5, and by that point I was already eager to be finished. I was pleased to see that Jordan wasn't too far in front of us (never mind the fact that he would be running twice as far), but I was a bit surprised to discover how seemingly close Liz and our friend Caroline were behind me. Liz was running the longest race of her life and Caroline had put in eight miles beforehand, and they were both crushing it! Meanwhile Kevin and I split five miles in 29:45, but I was faltering on the first noticeable uphill section and I could tell he was itching to drop the pace. I waved him onward, disappointed that my legs were so tired but resolving to maintain the same effort or risk getting caught. I was running scared. Fortunately, around mile 8 I found my second wind (possibly coinciding with cresting the final hill) and was able to finish strong, with Caroline and Liz not far behind despite accidentally missing a turn in the final mile. Jordan placed second in the 20-miler, an effort I will let him regale you with whenever he updates his blog. All in all, a solid day.

Oh, and my big prize? A pint glass.  

Just after the start: Jordan up front, Kevin in the yellow singlet next to me, with Caroline (yellow) and Liz (blue) at far right. Photo credit Thomas Cole.

 

Read More

All Tricks and No Treats: My Biggest Workout(s) Ever

AM: 2 mile w/u
Target: 10k @5:45 pace (35:45-35:50)
Actual: 35:46
1/2 mile c/d
Total: 8.5-9 miles

PM: 1 mile w/u
Target: 8-10 miles @6:10 down to 6:00 pace
Actual: 10 miles @61:00
1/2 mile c/d
Total: 11.5-12 miles

I don't have much time to blog, because I (finally) made it back to Boston and we are (finally) headed to NYC for the marathon weekend that almost never was (not racing, obviously, just here for work/birthday shenanigans/spectating/revelry and merriment). 

So let me just say this: on paper, executing these two relatively difficult workouts individually looked tough. To do them both on the same day is something that I would've found impossible a year ago if not a month ago. Heck, as recently as Saturday I felt flat and sluggish maintaining marathon pace for half the distance. So, needless to say, nailing both of these segments is a big, huge, gigantic confidence boost as I begin counting down the days until Philly. After having not run together for over a month due to his various injuries, Jordan rallied today and emerged from retirement to play queenmaker. He couldn't have picked a better time, as his presence was invaluable. (In that light, it would be poor form for me to mention that I dropped him near the end of both of these workouts. But, since that has happened only one other time in my life and may never happen again, I'm still going to put it out there.)

Today, I know for sure: I'm ready.

Read More

Army 10 Miler Race Recap

1 mile w/u
Target: 10 miles @57:00-57:30
Actual: 57:21 (5:44 pace); 6th place female
Results
Splits that I remember (gun): 2 miles @11:11; 3 miles @16:52; 5 miles @28:20; 10k @35;23  
2 mile c/d
Total: 13 miles

Ever since having such an awesome time running this race together last year, Caitlin and I have been planning to return. In 2011 I entered the race feeling relatively unfit and unprepared after taking some time off due to injury the previous month, only to surprise myself in on game day by sneaking in under 59 minutes. (I'd only been hoping to manage 6-minute pace.) This time, coming off a solid summer of base mileage and a few great weeks of marathon training, I expected much more from myself. Jordan set my goal at 57:30, an even 5:45 mile pace, but for some reason I was convinced I could run close to 57-flat if not faster. (I'm not sure why, since I haven't done nearly enough pace-specific work to indicate that my fitness levels corroborated this idea. Good thing he's the coach and not me.)

I flew in to DCA late morning on Saturday, then was immediately picked up by Jilane and whisked off to meet Caitlin, Garrett and Garrett's sister Elyse at perennial brunch favorite Open City. We spent the next few hours waiting eagerly for our food to arrive, catching up, devouring said food, and making a plan for the following morning. After last year's Metro disaster, we decided not to take any chances. Fortunately our invited athlete status also afforded us a parking pass for the Volunteer lot just on the other side of the Pentagon, so the plan was for Garrett and Caitlin to head over early and stake out a spot, then for Jilane to drop me off at their car shortly thereafter.

Way too much energy for 6am on a Sunday morning.

Shockingly, all the logistics went perfectly to plan in the pre-dawn Sunday hours, and before long the three amigos were walking toward the starting area on the opposite side of the Pentagon. Things got a little hectic as we merged with the other 30,000 runners all trying to make it through the baggage screening area--at which point Garrett was not allowed into the starting line zone since he didn't have a race number, which was slightly panic-inducing since we were planning on ditching all our warmups with him before the race--but soon we were through and ready to begin a somewhat hasty warmup. The air was cool and crisp with just a light breeze, and as the sun slowly crested the horizon it became obvious that the conditions were going to be absolutely perfect. I was nervous and a little anxious but also giddy with excitement on the starting line.

In hindsight, maybe I was a little too excited. When the starting cannon (yes, cannon) sounded, my body sprang into action as though I were racing a 5k. Knowing that Caitlin has been struggling with iron issues I didn't expect us to be able to run side by side for the entire race, but I was a little surprised to see her fall behind me almost immediately. "Man," I thought to myself, "she must be starting very conservatively." After seeing the digital display on the first mile marker flash 5:37 as I passed, it became obvious that Caitlin was probably running exactly to her plan. Instead, I was the one who was disobeying orders--having been firmly instructed to go out no faster than 5:45--and I knew that if I kept up this dangerous pace I would pay the price later. I needed to slow down.

Except, in an incredibly bizarre way that I have a difficult time articulating, I really couldn't. It was almost as if my legs were being moved by an invisible, intangible force, propelling them along at an imprudent speed but powerless to stop them. I truly didn't feel at this point that I was running hard, despite the cold reality that my pace was faster than what would be sustainable mere minutes down the road. Instead I allowed myself to be carried along, intermittently tucking in with groups of men and the occasional woman, watching the captivating backdrop of the Lincoln Memorial and the National Mall and the Potomac River flash past me. By five miles, it was becoming work. I was pleased to split a 10k road PR and see that I was still well within my goal 10k split of 35:30, but I also knew the hardest effort--and the most difficult section of the course--was yet to come. At 6.5 I heard Jilane screaming for me from the sidelines, but I was already too tired at that point to expend any energy searching for her face in the crowd.

Less than a mile later, as I knew it would, the incline began. From 7.5 to 9.5 the course rolls over a series of bridges and overpasses that transport the runners back to Virginia, and just like last year all I noticed were the uphills. Two girls passed me during this section--undoubtedly my slowest of the day but mercifully I didn't have the mental energy to calculate splits based on the mile marker clocks--and I fought hard to stay with them. Intuitively I could feel my upper-end goal of 57:30 slipping away, and all I could think about was how disappointed Jordan would be if I managed to throw the entire race away in the first feverish miles. With a mile to go, the girls gradually pulled farther away, and as I pushed and flailed over the the final hill I found myself growing increasingly frustrated. "There's no way they're running 100 miles a week like me," I thought. "Use that strength and get your head back in the game!" As we rounded the final bend with a few hundred meters to go, I could almost imperceptibly feel one of them foundering. I charged hard, passing her definitively with less than ten meters to go. I don't need a finish line photo to tell me it wasn't pretty, but I'm proud I was able to track her down. As I crossed the line just over 57:20 I found myself filled with mixed emotions: excitement that I'd chopped over 90 seconds off last year's time, disappointment in my rookie pacing tactics, and eagerness to come back next year and give the Army 10 Miler another go.

Caitlin came through a few minutes later and we found Garrett shortly thereafter. I could tell they were both disappointed that her race didn't go as she'd hoped, but all hurt feelings were at least temporarily assuaged once we entered the "commissary" area chock full of freebies. If 80 protein bars, 7 jumbo packs of gum and 21 chocolates--this is the real true tally that she later sent me via text--can't turn that frown upside down, I don't know what will. More than anything, I was so happy we had a chance to spend some time together this weekend and be running buddies again just like the old days. I hope we can do it again for Army 10 Miler 2013!

(P.S. f you have a chance, read this post-race article. Women's winner Kerri Gallagher started training under Matt Centrowitz Sr. a few months ago and sliced a whopping 3 1/2 minutes off last year's Army 10 Miler time! The article also mentions that the runner-up (who won last year) is training for the Philly Marathon, meaning my chances at an overall victory just got even slimmer.)

Read More

Army 10 Miler Race Recap

~.75 mile w/u
Target: 10 mile race @sub-60 (6:00 avg.)
Actual: 58:55 (5:53-54 avg.); slowest mile 6:00, fastest mile 5:48, 10k split 36:30
10th female; Results
2.25 mile c/d
Total: 13 miles

After a full day of traveling in a severely overloaded vehicle, Jordan and I arrived to Jilane's place in DC just before dinnertime on Saturday. She and I set off on an easy 10-minute shakeout while Jordan put in a more substantial run before reuniting with Caitlin, Garrett and former Charlottean B-Mac for a pre-race dinner and strategizing session. We left eager to get a good night's sleep and toe the line in the morning.

Full of nervous energy, I awoke immediately at the sound of my alarm and was out the door by 6:20. The plan we'd decided on the night before was for both me and Caitlin (along with Boriana, who came in from Tyson's Corner) to rendezvous at the Pentagon metro stop near the race start/finish. Jilane lives just a block away from a metro so it should've been no problem for me to hop on a train there and ride it all the way to the race. But as I was approaching the Capitol South metro station in the early morning darkness I could tell that something was amiss. A dozen or so other people, each dressed similar to me and sporting an Army 10 Miler race number, were standing on the sidewalk outside the station wearing expressions of annoyance. Turns out that for some inexplicable reason the station was closed. Trying to stay calm, I asked the guy next to me where the closest alternate station was, assuming I'd jog there. Overhearing my question, another guy said that he'd just parked nearby and would be happy to drive us to the next station. Despite having no indication that he was anything other than a deranged serial killer masquerading as a runner who'd staged the station closure as an elaborate ruse to kidnap and murder us all, I happily agreed. (Dad, don't tell Mom.) I piled into his car with the randos while texting Caitlin about where she should start looking for my body in case things went awry. Fortunately he whisked us to the next station without a hitch, and a few minutes later I was safely on a metro train bound for the Pentagon station with smooth sailing--or so I thought.

The first part of the ride passed uneventfully. As our car emerged from the underground to cross the Potomac River, revealing a stunning sunrise splashed across the backdrop of the Mall, the man sitting next to me turned and said approvingly, "It's going to be a beautiful day." I'd barely begun to nod my agreement when he added, "Last year I ran this race in Afghanistan." Wow. Talk about putting the event in perspective. In an instant my earlier transportation difficulties were all but forgotten--until a few minutes later, when our train lurched to a halt amid crackled words from the conductor about door trouble from the car ahead. My anxiety level slowly began to rise with every passing minute as my watch ticked to 7:00, then 7:10, then 7:15. At this point I was already 15 minutes late to meet Caitlin and, with no reception in the tunnel, I figured she'd already gotten tired of waiting and decided to head to the elite tent without me. Once the train finally pulled into the Pentagon station, however, I learned that the "door trouble" mentioned earlier was actually the result of 30,000 participants trying to exit for the race. I was barely able to shove my way out of the door and onto the platform as it was covered with wall-to-wall people. I soon learned that Caitlin and Boriana faced the same obstacle, and by the time we'd fought our way up the escalator it was already close to 7:30. It took us several minutes and a few uses of the iPhone compass app to figure out where our elite tent was located, but once we had our bearings we took off in more or less a dead sprint. This wasn't exactly the warmup I'd envisioned, but it would have to suffice. We arrived at the tent with just enough time to change out of our warmups, stand in line for the bathroom and take a few gulps of water before being directed to the starting line. After the ordeal we'd just endured, it seemed as though the race itself would be a piece of cake.

For the first few miles after the starting cannon sounded, it was just that. Caitlin and I settled into a rhythm next to each other, consciously allowing a group of 4-5 women to go out ahead of us while we adhered to our goal pace. We split our first mile in 5:51, then the same for the second, then the same for the third, all the while telling each other we needed to back off and conserve energy but still clicking off the same splits. I was pleasantly surprised to feel so comfortable running what amounts to an aggressive pace for my current fitness level, but in the back of my mind I feared the early miles might catch up with me later. Through the halfway point, however, I felt terrific. It was amazing to run the race with Caitlin at my side--believe it or not, with as much as we train together we rarely have the opportunity to race this way--and despite our increasing effort levels we managed to offer each other bits of encouragement every few minutes. It also didn't hurt that the day was, in a word, perfect. The 60-degree start temperature, though unseasonably warm, was tempered by low humidity and no wind. To be honest, anything colder would've been to my detriment due to the extremely abbreviated warm-up. The course itself, which begins and ends at the Pentagon and offers a running tour of the National Mall, the White House, the Kennedy Center, the Watergate Hotel and plenty of other attractions, was mostly flat and fast. Several times during the race I found myself just feeling thankful for the opportunity to enjoy such a fantastic race on a beautiful day while feeling healthy and strong.


Caitlin and I running with our male escorts early in the race

Eventually, however, my euphoria gave way to fatigue. I stuck with Caitlin through six miles, then through the 10k, before the quick early pace began to take its toll. At some point during the seventh mile I inexplicably caught back up to her, excitedly proclaiming, "I'm back!", only to watch her pull away decisively a few meters later. From that point on she would remain fixed in my field of vision, at times slightly farther away and at times a bit closer, but all the while decidedly out of reach. The last 5k, which just happens to feature the only hills of the entire course, found me in no-man's land. Remember when I said I needed to work on my mental toughness? Well, be careful what you wish for. Somewhere toward the end of the seventh mile Jordan popped up on the sidelines, entreating me to stay focused and telling me I was in the top 10. In reality I think I was in 11th or 12th at that point, but his comments and a few cheers from Jilane renewed my determination to finish strong. I split 5:51 for mile 8, my fastest thus far of the second half of the race after a few 6:00s in a row, passing two girls in the process. With two miles to go I was able to roughly calculate that I'd need to split two 5:55s in order to break 59 minutes.


The bad news is Caitlin dropped me shortly thereafter. The good news is I then
dropped the girl in pink.

Unfortunately, with the ninth mile featuring a long uphill grade on one of the bridges, my best efforts could not prevent another 6:00 split. At one point I passed a wheelchair racer, who looked at me and said, "Hey, I think you're the first woman!" I have no idea why he thought that since he'd clearly been passed by quite a few other females, so I quickly replied, "I'm not." His response--"Well, you are for me!"--brought a fleeting smile to my face, once again putting the entire race in perspective. With just five minutes of hard running remaining and determined to meet my goal, I forged up the final hill before taking a sharp downhill to the finishing straight. I could see Caitlin crossing the line just ahead as I managed to sprint in just a few ticks under 59 minutes. Not only had I beaten my goal, but I'd finished with my fastest split of the day and achieved what is realistically my best case scenario for where my fitness is right now.


Me, Caitlin and Boriana looking fresh as daisies as we represent CRC post-race

Wogging back to Caitlin's hotel after the race--there was no way in hell we were getting back on the metro--we recapped the run and how much we enjoyed the course. Though I might plan my pre-race preparations a little bit differently, I have every intention of returning next year in better shape and improving upon this year's finish. As for the rest of 2011, well, now all I have to do is get fit enough to run 16 more miles at this pace and then I'll be all set!

Read More