Cowboy Hazel

I really should be working now instead of writing this, but I just have to put down at least a few lines about my wonderful race this morning.

I was more scared going into this thing than I've ever been for a race before. Yesterday, I was barely able to finish a 4 mile run (I was still feeling sick and then got really winded as soon as I started running, even though I used the inhaler) and was almost certain that, if I ran today, it would be the end of my P.R. streak. I thought about sitting it out, but then decided to run, knowing that Bronx was only 2 weeks away and I could quickly get redemption after posting a bad time today.

Things didn't go as planned. The running gods must be happy with me – Instead of the predicted disaster, I somehow managed to come up with a 1:27:30 finish (which beat my old P.R. by almost three minutes), a 6:40/mile pace. I've never been so happy crossing a finish line as I was today.

That's not to say it was an easy race. It started out very rough. First off, it was cold. Really cold. I love winter and cold weather running, but this was a little much even for me. The clock on the CNN building said 14 degrees at the start. I knew I'd be okay after I started running, but waiting for that starting horn was not a lot of fun.

The first couple miles were okay, but by mile 4, I was seriously considering dropping out. I was just in so much pain, I didn't think there was any way that I would be able to continue running. The cold was a little bit of a factor, but mainly it was just that I had no energy. It was taking a 100% effort just to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Luckily, I was able to put mind over body with the help of a couple quotes – One was Prefontaine: "The best pace is a suicide pace, and today is a good day to die," (thanks Elizabeth) and the other was my own from a phone call yesterday: "I'm running that race tomorrow no matter how shitty I feel and I'm going to finish unless they carry me off on a stretcher." Realizing I'd look like a jackass if I quit after that one, I decided to just slow down a bit and try to tough it out. Even if I finish with a bad time, I thought, that's better than not finishing at all.

Then, just as we were passing the mile 7 marker, I got this huge second wind. I suddenly realized that I only had one more lap and then I was done. This was totally home field advantage. Some people might say that running a half marathon in Central Park is boring, but I can't think of any place else I'd rather run one. It was like I was running in my own backyard. I knew every hill, every curve before they came up. Plus, the whole second half of the race, I was able to keep myself going by thinking that it was just another lap of the park. How many times have you done this? I asked myself. You've done this before a million times. What's one more lap? Whether it was that, or the illness finally leaving my body, or what, I'm not sure, but I ran a much better race the entire second half.

When mile 11 rolled around, I got an even bigger surge of energy (a third wind?) and started making moves. As someone who always struggles with pacing, it was so fun to be able to pick up speed and pass people this late in the race. I crossed the finish line feeling like I could have easily kept going a few more miles if I needed to.

Unfortunately, that energy didn't last long. I have felt horrible ever since I got back home. I stretched out thoroughly, but still I have been really, really sore and achy all day. I had planned to work at least five or six hours, but it just didn't happen. I laid around and watched tennis instead. But, it's tough to feel to guilty about that after running such a kick ass race. I deserve a little break, right?