Running the Line

I had decided to run Sunday's half marathon in San Antonio at the last minute, just last Tuesday. At first, it looked like it might turn into a field trip with some of my friends from Team Spiridon. That disintegrated quickly, which was for the best - the mileage was too soon for most of the runners.

I even suspected it was too soon for me. I knew I could cover the distance, but I also knew I wouldn't just run it easy. I wanted to break two hours. Lately, I've been passing significant landmarks - finally breaking under 55 minutes (and under 9:00 miles) in the 10K, and under 25 minutes (and under 8:00 miles) in the 5K. It was time to bust two hours open.

Running a 1:59:59 would require averaging 9:10 per mile, just 12 seconds slower than what I was able to maintain to get my 10K time four weeks ago. Last year, I ran my personal best 2:04:03 in San Antonio, just three weeks after the Chicago Marathon, and still feeling the soreness from running through 12 miles of my quadriceps cramping. Weeks after that, I averaged 9:08's for ten miles in San Antonio. I hadn't run a half marathon since San Antonio a year ago, and I hadn't run over 10K at any real pace since the marathon in February.

It was going to be interesting, and I knew it.

All through the week, it was on my mind, and I felt good about it. I decided I would break it up - I'd run the first three miles at 9:10's. I could do that for three miles, for sure. And if I did that, I could certainly keep it up for three more miles. At six, we'd see, but I really felt like I could hammer it out, just try to hold pace through the ninth mile. Then, I figured I'd make a choice, and I thought it would be that I could either hold pace, or even turn it up for three miles. I anticipated still feeling good for that last mile. I began to think of being in the 1:58-1:59 range.

I stayed with Gabby, my coach and good friend, and her husband Nick. Melissa and Kurt, marathon group friends from the past, were staying there, too. We had a nice pasta dinner, talked a bit, and people headed off to bed by 10:00 or so. With everyone else in their rooms, I pinned my number on my shirt, laid everything out for the morning, set one alarm for 5:00am, and a different one for 5:15, then laid down and watched an episode of "30 Rock" on my iPod. Mmm... Tina Fey.

I woke up just a few times. Once, at a little after 11:00, when Carmen shot me a text encouraging me to just pretend a large dog, or an angry Viking with a sword was chasing me. I laughed, and went back to sleep. Another time to go to the restroom. The last time, I reached to my phone to check the time, and it read, "4:59".

The human body is an amazing thing.

There was a text message, too. Another friend had texted me at 4:15am, wishing me luck. I felt good, the nearness of my friends in the next room now joined by her presence.

The ritual - breakfast immediately, two packets of instant oatmeal. Dress. Look through the race packet. Mostly paper, ads for races in San Antonio, the medium tshirt I got because they had run out of my size, and a 4 oz. packet of Mahatma Brown Rice. I was uncertain how to use the 4 oz. packet of Mahatma Brown Rice to my advantage in a half marathon, but I felt I'd know when the time came.

Melissa and Kurt left, and I left just as Gabby and Nick were getting up. They were running the 5K. Gabby's a bad ass - she ran the half last year in a little over 1:30, but she's also five months pregnant, so she was doing the 5K "Fitness Run," which is sort of like Lance Armstrong on a Big Wheel, or making Desmond Tutu secretary of your neighborhood association.

On the drive over, I'm anxious as hell. My stomach hurts with it. Some coach.

I pay $10 to park at the Alamodome, near the finish, bringing this half marathon adventure up to $80, but I'm OK with that, because I doubt I'll do it when it becomes the Rock 'n Roll Marathon next year.

It's about a ten minute walk to the start line at the Alamo. It's 6:45, but I like not being concerned and an hour early for once. Despite my reputation for being late, I'm never late to races. I talk to a woman just coming here from Colorado and Alaska. She's running the half. It puts me a little at ease.

We round a corner to the start area, and wish each other luck. I don't see anyone I know. I know there are friends there, but I'd had the sense we weren't in these adventures together anymore. I have no ill will about that. I deserve some of it, some of it is a matter of circumstance. It's sad, but it's been that kind of year.

And it seems right, almost, to be here alone. So many times this year, usually when I had had a bit to drink, I wanted to go out to the marathon's start line on the Congress Avenue bridge, late at night, toe the line, close my eyes, and push away. I wanted to run the marathon, alone, to be again in a place where there was only one goal, and one way to reach it, and nothing else could matter. Nothing I'd done, nothing anyone else had done, nothing anyone thought or said of me, the people come, the people gone, none of it would matter. I just needed that time, running the lines, watching them slide under my feet.

So, here, in San Antonio, I was finally alone at the start line, ready to make my escape, if only for a couple of hours.

I get up as close as I can to the 4:00 marathon pace group, thinking I might use them to help pace myself to the two hour half.

The sound is not very good, but still, I have to say, for a more conservative city with a strong military presence, Austin is far more respectful duing the national anthem. Here, and most places I've been, even with bad sound, the recognition sweeps back across the crown quickly, followed by near complete silence. In San Antonio, on this Veteran's Day, it was reduced to muffled background music.

We hear cannons go off. I guess that's us. The crowd shuffles forward, and by the time I fall in, I'm with the 4:15 pace group, which is OK. It's gonna be a long morning, plenty of time to catch up.

At the start line, they're playing "Stars and Stripes Forever." Rrrright... It is Veteran's Day, but this is really doing nothing for me.

I feel good. My legs are still not fresh from the hard workout Wednesday night, but they're good enough. The warmth and humidity is a concern - I already feel like it's taking a little more breathing to get the same energy output. But I'm there, and I feel solid, I have a plan, and I'm enjoying the energy of the beginning of a true distance race again.

I feel like I'm trying to fine-tune my pace, trying to gauge it by my breathing. I pass the knee-high mile one sign at 9:11. Again, the human body is an amazing thing.

Mile two comes at 9:08. I still feel like I'm breathing and working just a little too hard at this pace, and I know from experience it could be an issue. But I don't want there to be any questions today, so I stick at the pace.

The knee-high mile markers go invisible for the next couple of miles, which worries me a bit. I've still been trying to adjust to the pace, and I like to keep tabs on it.

The races in San Antonio have been funny to me. The generally sparse crowds were better this year, but coming from an unusually active and fit place like Austin, San Antonio has a different vibe. The races are a little more... quaint.

Apparently to prove this point, a motorcycle cop came cruising straight up the middle of the pack today. Usually, they'll come up the sides, using their loudspeaker or even siren to budge runners over as necessary. But, no, this guy just motored right through us. Who knows, maybe he wasn't even working the race, and didn't know about it - "They're everywhere... they're mostly skinny, all sweaty... Oh my God, he's got a Gu! Officer sticky! Repeat, officer sticky!"

This is what goes on in my brain, pretty much all the time, but especially when running. This is either a good reason or a bad one for me to run.

At mile four or so, my brain's working away, I'm still trying to find a sweet spot with my breathing, and I get a call. In my head.

"Yeah, this is Doug, down in left hamstring."

"Oh. Hey. What's up?"

"You know, just expanding and contracting... same old, same old."

"Ah, great, yeah, thanks for that. Ever hear from the guys down in the calves?"

"No, man, those guys are freaks. Between you and me and the glutes, I think they're not all that bright, really."

"Hm. Right. So, listen, I'm kinda busy right now, so like, uh... what the hell do you want?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to let you know... I'm looking at this work order, and it says we're running a half marathon again?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Huh. Yeah, man, that's just not something we're into right now, so I'm gonna have to go ahead and send some pain signals now, and maybe, you know, just tighten it up some."

"Well, that's great man. I don't suppose I can change your OW! What the f*ck, dude?"

"Yeah, there ya go."

"Thanks, Doug, I'm hanging up now. Go f*ck yourself, OK?"

"Right back at you, as-"

Click.

Fine. I've ignored it before. It's been worse. Big freakin' deal.

Somewhere in about the fourth mile, the 4:15 pace group passes us. I'm still a bit lost on my time, but I know they are running far over their pace.

We turn a corner, and the guys in front of me are saying something about the hill. I hadn't really noticed, and I'm once again glad to be from Austin.

I finally get a mile marker at mile five, and I have 27:19 on the watch - I averaged 9:06 for the last three miles.

Somewhere here, we dipped into downtown proper again, and for a brief moment, there's a flashback to Chicago, only with about 42,000 less runners, and tens of thousands less spectators. Still, I'm impressed that there's decent crowds in a couple of corners. They're a little quiet in parts, but they're San Antonio people, some of the loudest and most excited fans in the NBA. They're easily encouraged, and they respond.

The crowd gives me a short boost, but I'm struggling a bit. For some reason, I've been feeling flushed for a couple of miles, a little overheated. I've never felt this way quite this early, but I still have those three mile goals in my head, and I'm, getting through six. I start to get thoughts about what I'll do after that, though.

9:18 through mile six. I keep moving, but I can't deny what I knew to be the case earlier - the pace was slightly too fast today. My legs are burning up quick, and things are hurting earlier and a bit more than they should. Now, I think I've never wanted to quit a race so badly.

Despite a hard effort to just hold pace, I slip to a 9:26 through mile seven. A little boost, maybe from the energy gel, and I get through mile eight in 9:18. I'm still thinking I just need to get to mile nine, then... I don't know... maybe I'd miraculously feel better?

Then I just slam into what I would call a wall, if I didn't know it couldn't have been "the wall" that runners speak of. Let's go with a solid, unyielding barrier. I stop, something I haven't had to do in a half marathon in a long time. I'm a little dizzy. My chest has been achy and tired for a while, now.

I walk for about a minute or two, then try to get running again. It's fits and starts for a few minutes. Mile nine takes me 10:36. I'm tired and hurting enough that I don't really feel like taking my gel, but I do.

I'n genuinely hurting, and I had pushed myself pretty long and deep into discomfort, but I realize I had lost touch with the way I felt in the marathons and half marathons before. It's been a while, and I wonder if I'm mentally as strong as I was back in February, or last year.

But I'm very conscious that I have a group of people that I'm responsible for, that I've been pushing. If I quit, what would that do to my credibility, or their belief in what I'm trying to get some of them to understand about themselves? So, I absolutely have to keep moving.

I pick up a little bit with some gradual downhills, on the return trip along the out-and-back - 9:45 for the tenth mile.

Now I have three miles left. I know I can't do much better than ten minute miles, and that isn't going to get me there in under two hours. Tens would probably not even get me close enough to beating my personal record, and though I keep trying to push the pace back up, my body won't respond completely. 10:47 for the eleventh mile.

Mandy's friend Shauna passes me and says hi. She was running it alone, too. I think she had wanted to meet up at the start and run together, but she was likely to run a good deal faster than even my 9:10 pace. As it turns out, I might have done better running with her. She looks strong and relatively pain-free, though she had a tough day in the humidity, too.

The calves have been making themselves heard anytime I try to pick up the pace, threatening to cramp. I thought about Wednesday night's hill workout, the "Figger Eights", the abomination that I had concocted and put everyone through. I curse my coach silently, but, you know, I'm right there.

It's amazing, how you can have two miles left, and how much you can still want to quit. I mean, you often sort of want to quit, but I mean seriously thinking, "I've gotta stop". I try to think of it as a two-mile time trial, that grueling test of mental toughness. That doesn't help very much. I still want to stop. I still know I can't. I keep thinking about Team Spiridon, and about our motto - "I will be proof." I don't want people to see that motto walking, beaten.

I keep going. I pick up to 10:36 through mile 12.

The last mile. A girl on a curb, half a mile out, not able to finish, an ambulance on the way.

Three hundred meters to the turn towards the Alamodome, and I'm having to break it up, I'm running from one street sign to the next, 30-40 feet at a time. People line the last two hundred meters to the dome, and they're cheering, and I try to pick it up a bit. The calves try to cramp, so I'm lurching a bit to run faster.

The finish is great - down the loading ramp, and it opens up into the dome. I'm trying to get a sprint, and I speed up, but there's just nothing left.

Through the finish, and I'm just trying to stay up. I get my medal, and some friends are at the finish. Shauna's there, too.

Shauna hangs out with me. I lay down for a bit, then we get some food and multiple Alamo beers. We take pictures, talk, hang out there for about an hour, say our goodbyes, and I'm driving back to Austin.

11:47 for the last mile and a tenth, 2:07:24 overall. Two hours still taunts me, and the personal record stands. I'm OK with it, though.

I hadn't pushed myself that hard over a larger distance for a long time. I feel like it was one of my hardest races ever, which at first I chalk up to the immediacy of it, and to me being a little out of touch with it all.

But I realize that I pushed myself harder, for longer, than I ever really had, even though I didn't have much of a result to show for it. Some of that is weather - I've been spoiled, with every race 10 miles or longer for the last two years being in the 40's, or colder.

But, this is why we need to run races, to develop and maintain that edge, that familiarity with our ability to handle pain and adversity. I also know that we still still have 14 weeks of training before the marathon. We're in a phase where we're building strength and serious mileage, and we'll be doing more work on running at pace. I also now have a sense of the adjustments I need to make, in my training, and in my mental makeup, if I'm going to have better days.

I also really appreciate the role you guys played in getting me through the race. Sure, it was partially about avoiding shame and hypocrisy, but I also thought about all the times you're going to be faced with similar difficulties, and similar choices, and all the times you'll choose to keep running. Again, that's why we do this. When you hit those points, and you think you're about to make a choice you might not be happy with later, remember that you owe me a few.

Off to the races...

Well, not on foot really... but races none the less! As some of you may know, I will be competing in the Rolex International Women's Keelboat Championship next week down in Galveston Bay. A few people have asked me for more information on the race, so I thought I would post some links here. I will be competing as a part of a three woman crew against 41 other all-women teams from all over the United States, along with a few international teams from Canada, South Africa, and the B.V.I.'s. The Rolex event will be really snazzy - I heard some gossip that Rolex is bringing in new furniture for the Houston Yacht Club during the event, because what was there didn't meet their standards. And the HYC is already a really really nice facility. I was there for the District Circuit Regatta this past weekend and had a chance to check out the local scene.

Here is general information on the race: http://www.riwkc.com/

The competition for this event will be stiff, including America's Cup Veterans, and cross-training Olympian teams. Here's a preview of some of the rockstars whose dirty air we will probably be eating: http://www.ussailing.org/pressreleases/2007/riwkcpreview1.asp

Daily race results will be posted here: http://www.riwkc.com/index.php?pageID=3

To find out how we are doing in the standing each day look for out boat, "Dea Latis" - she will be listed as bow number 34/ sail number 984. Our skipper's name is Renee Ruais. "Dea Latis" is the Irish Goddess of Water and Beer, my skipper figured her an ideal patron to watch over our water-loving, beer-loving sail addiction.

And there will also be a daily photo gallery: http://www.riwkc.com/index.php?pageID=73 On top of the daily races, there are cocktail parties every evening, including some sort of hay ride and a private party at the Nasa space center. So instead of Run, Drink, Repeat, I will be taking a week to Sail, Drink, Repeat. I will miss you all though! Best of luck to everyone on your runs while I am gone!