Cowboy Hazel

My running of the NYRR Grand Prix: Queens Half-Marathon this morning had enough melodrama to fill a made-for-t.v. movie. There were twists and turns in the plot the whole way, but I managed to finish with the sub-1:35:00 time that I was looking for... barely.

As feared, I started with one of my way-too-fast starts that have become my specialty. Starting in the front chute had, as I anticipated, a horrible effect on my pacing. I left the starting line with the pack and ended up with a 6:35 first mile. "Oh crap," I thought, "I really need to slow down. I'm forty seconds under my target pace." But, even with that realization, I was still letting the momentum of the crowd push me on way too fast. I ended up at mile 3 at just under 20 minutes. At that point, I was already starting to feel some fatigue and knew that I had completely fucked up this race. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to just keep running as fast as I could and build up a time buffer for when the inevitable crash would hit.

That crash hit just after the mile 4 marker. I grabbed some Gatorade and was feeling reasonably okay when suddenly, fatigue just swept over me like a wave. It was weird, my whole body – legs, chest, arms – all got tired at exactly the same time. I tried to push on as fast as I could, but I was fading fast. People starting passing me left and right (literally) and I was really struggling just to keep running.

By the time I hit mile 7, the clock was at 49:25. Some quick math told me that I was quickly losing the "time buffer" that I'd built up and wouldn't come anywhere near my goal if I didn't pick up the pace. I sped up a little, but it was still a struggle.

Somewhere around mile 8 or 9, I just kind of zoned out and hit that wonderful runner's high. I was pretty much cruising on auto-pilot until I managed to throw half a cup of Gatorade into my left eye right after the mile 10 marker. That stung a lot more than you'd think. Unfortunately, it also snapped me out of my zone and I suddenly realized that I was in a hell of a lot of pain, my shoes were swampy, and that I really had nothing left but fumes. I tried to keep up a decent pace, but I just had nothing in the tank.

Then, I saw the mile 11 sign. I passed it just as it flipped over to 1:21:00. More quick mental math and I realized that I was fucked. I'd have to run 2.1 miles in under 14 minutes to hit my goal time. Looking back on this, I have no idea where this extra surge of energy came from, but I somehow found it within me to start running fast – faster than my first couple miles even – a near 6:30 pace. I started passing all the people that had passed me and stayed very strong through the finish. When I looked up at the clock and saw 1:34, a huge smile came across my face as I crossed the finish line. I'm hoping that photo turned out as well as I think it did.

But, the downside is this: After the race, I was completely dead. I drank some more water and Gatorade, tried to eat a bagel (but couldn't), and then went and just passed out on the grass. I laid there for probably forty minutes before even attempting to get up. And, when I did, it wasn't pleasant. Considering that I have my first 20 mile run scheduled for less than a week from now, I definitely shouldn't have used that much energy today.

So, yes, I set a new personal record – 1:34:39 was my official time – and achieved my sub-1:35 goal. But, even by my standards, today's race was a monumental pacing mistake. Hopefully, making up for it with my mad dash at the end didn't take too much out of me. We'll find out the answer to that soon enough...