Race Report #3 2008 PF Chang Half Marathon

For my third endurance event of my season, the PF Chang's half marathon, I want to do well but first I have some mental obstacles. Standing in corral #5 I have a bladder that won't fully empty and a dead battery in my footpod; I won't be using my pace to guide me through this race. But the weather is damn near perfect. My mind, lately plagued with plateaus, missed workouts and increased responsibility at work, is only focused on the streets ahead. I plug in my ear buds, crank up the playlist, start my watch and move under the start line banner. I am determined that today will be different. Today I will be Unusual. It's 8:30am.

My goal is simple. Set a good pace for the first three miles. Increase my heart rate to threshold until mile ten and then pop the remaining safeties in my mind and go for it the last three miles. I am going to run a sub-2 hour half marathon. A great race for me is to finish around 1:54.

The half marathon is a distance I do at least twice per month in training but not at anaerobic threshold like I will this day. I train for Ironmans and the requisite running is long distances at a much lower heart rate zone. Its about being consistent, think more tortoise than hare.

By mile two I have finally emptied my bladder at a honey bucket along the course and conceded to striking my lap button at each mile marker, I will run by individual splits and heart rate alone, the Polar 625 on my wrist will be well underutilized this race. My first 5k comes in 27 minutes and feel I have more to give to this course. My mind is sharp, my feet moving well and I begin to push the pace.

There are 20,000 people running the half and even being seeded in corral 5 of 30, there are thousands of people in front of me and they are between me and my goal. The next three miles I continue to dart through and around people. Normally these quick lateral movements and spurts of acceleration are more tedious than anything but I find that my pace and my energy are up to the task. I continue to click off miles each of them a couple seconds over a pace of eight minutes.

I know at mile ten I want to push it harder. My heart rate has already been locked in at 167 for the last several miles. My form feels perfect and my breathing is effortless. I have no reason or thought to breaking my pace and in fact haven't slowed down or walked at all. These last three miles will decide my fate of a sub 2 hour run. I can't let up at all.

Miles nine and ten are slightly uphill. They're not really hills, but enough of an incline to make you think about it. I didn't hesitate, tucked my chin, pumped my arms and only lose a few seconds to the clock. Its at this point that two runners pass me on the uphill. The first to do so in an hour. I celebrate the realization and redouble my efforts pushing my heart rate into the high 170's.

Thankfully mile eleven is a well known stretch of road and its somewhat downhill. I make up considerable time, running my fastest mile of 7:43. My mind is no longer concerned with time or pace, I am moving as fast as I can. I realize my eyes are half-closed slits. All my energy poured into the last few minutes on the clock. The final mile brings me fully to terms with my endeavor. My pace has not slackened in the least and my energy output is still consistent with seemingly much left in the tank. I am pushing myself to the point of feeling the urge to vomit and still I continue my mission. My mind repeats the word, "squeeze." As in don't let up, keep squeezing the life from this road. I am fully flying past people only stymied by the bottleneck into the longest finish shoot I have ever seen.

I began this race months ago, meditating on a sub-2 hour race. I told so very few my hearts desire to run 1:54. When I crossed the finish line and saw my time of 1:47, my heart swelled. So much emotion ran through me. I had done my best and slaughtered my expectations. My thoughts went to Mistress. I mentally thanked her first. I couldn't have run this day without her support. Without her acceptance of my training. She rarely disapproves and often is my biggest advocate for getting in my long hours of practice for my Ironmans. When I tell her I will be home at 1pm, she tells me she will she me around 3pm and she is usually right.

The time I ran, the love of my family, the legs still wanting to churn out the miles, my body showing me its excellent condition despite my mental self-conflagrations otherwise; I got emotional. My phone call home was choked up, with my heart in my throat and my emotions on my salty sleeve.

Many months ago I decided that the theme of 2008's would be the Year Of Believing. Right now I truly do.