Hills and Hurdles: The Race Report: IU Mini Marathon March 31, 2012

The Line-up:

The icy pre-dawn air of a race morning always seems to conceal my nerves a bit. I tell myself that the shaking and fidgeting is a consequence of the cold. After running back and forth to the port-a-potties countless times (nervous pee-er: that's me), I found my way to the crowd beginning to gather at the start line. That is always an energy that you cannot replicate anywhere else. Some people are chattering uncontrollably, laughing too loudly, nervously. Others, like me, stand in silence, exchanging glances, wondering if anyone else feels as nervous as them, feels more ready than them. I swear, standing there, motionless, thinking about the task before you; that is always the longest ten minutes of a race. I usually jump up and down, half-heartedly stretch a few more times, bounce my legs around as though I'm going to magically cure all of the knee problems that I'm fretting over in the minutes before a race.

Miles 1-3:

When the gun goes off, I have to summon all of the self-control that I have to not burst forward like a tornado of pent-up energy, tension, nerves, and well-conditioned muscle. That is my favorite thing about long distance races, though. They are about more than the muscle you've worked so hard to train and condition. Distance races are more than anything an exercise in wisdom, restraint, self-awareness, and perfect timing, not pure power.

I held myself back this time better than I ever have before. This was actually only my second half marathon. In the marathon last year, I was a bundle of energy for the first 6 miles, hoping over curbs, onto sidewalks, speeding around people, waving my arms. I felt almost like I was dancing. We all know that feeling did not last all 26.2 miles though. My goal for the mini this time was to test my ability to pace myself, to control my power, plan every mile, and stick to that plan. I started slow. I checked my Garmin (GPS runner's watch) obsessively for the first 5 miles. "Don't go under 9 (9:00 minutes per mile), don't go under 9," I kept repeating to myself. I may have even said it out loud. People were flying by me, some of them clearly in far worse shape than me. I saw people waving their arms around, engaging in a personal celebration on mile one, giving each stride their full forces of energy stores. I swallowed my pride, stared down at my watch, and let them go by. "Save them for later," I kept telling myself. Aside: Yes, I do actually talk to myself this much on every long run. It's the only way I'd ever get through a whole marathon training season of solo-long runs. I call it runner's-schizophrenia.

On mile 2 we hit Jordan Hill. For those of you that know Bloomington, it begins at the intersection of North Jordan Avenue and East 17th Street then travels all of the way through Fraternity lane until you reach the intersection with Law Lane. For those of you that don't know Bloomington, it is 1.04 miles of winding, non-stop-uphill, and it gets steeper with each block. I'd been practicing this hill twice per week. Each time taking fewer walk breaks, making it farther to the top. This time I'd decided to make it all of the way up and over, and I did! As I reached the crest of the hill, two girls were holding a sign that said "You're almost there! The next two miles are all downhill!" As I passed them and crested the hill I gave myself a smile, a nod, and a short celebration of my victory.

Miles 3-6:

As we reached mile 3 people were no longer flying by me. Things started to reach a sort-of status-quo for a while. The mood was cheerful, but much more subdued. My legs felt warm now; my heart rate was steady. As I ran past my supporters (Mom, Dad, Adam, Adam's parents) I slipped off my arm warmers and handed them to my mom. Warm-up completed. Now I let myself settle in to 8:50 per mile.

Passing off my arm warmers. Warm-up completed!

This is a good time to mention my other goal for this race: hydration. Usually I relied on the aid stations set up every two or so miles with water and gatorade. In last year's marathon, however, I found real problems with my hydration, and this ultimately led to the longest final six miles of my life. This time I chose to carry two 10 oz bottles on my own hydration belt. One bottle was filled with Powerade Zero, the other with Vitargo S2. Rather than try to gulp down water every two miles at an aid station, wondering in between when that next station will be, how crowded it will be, how much I should drink, I sipped constantly and slowly. As we approached aid stations, everyone would move to the right side, slowing down, stopping, crowding, gulping down water. I would move to the left and glide around everyone, sipping away at my own, perfectly mixed concoctions.

Miles 7-10:

Things changed as we reached mile 7. This is one of the hilliest half marathons in the country. As we crested yet another hill, I saw people start to fall apart. The mood had swiftly changed, and so had the pace. This was when I let my legs loosen up more, and I gave my body permission to assume its most comfortable pace. I dialed it up to 8:20, and I began to do just what I'd been waiting the whole race for, picking them off, one by one, mile after mile. People started walking, curling over, shaking their heads in disbelief that we'd only reached the half-way point. I started smiling, having fun, dancing with my strides. Halfway was where I'd planned to let my body go and begin to enjoy the race. I popped a couple of Cliff Extra-Salt Shot Bloks, sipped away at my Vitargo bottle, and motored on.

Miles 11-13.1:

8:20 was not my 5K pace, and I still had one more speed-up planned for the finish. As we reached mile 11, we ran past a restaurant with outdoor seating, cresting a hill as everyone cheered at their tables. My legs were starting to feel fatigued, my mind just a bit more foggy. I popped one more shot blok, took a gulp of vitargo, and shook some tension from my fists. Within minutes I felt the sugar wake me up, and I knew it was time for the final stretch. I found that extra reserve in my legs, the extra beats my heart was ready to give, and I set my legs completely free for the first time in the race. My pace ducked below 8:00, hanging around 7:50. I used the extra muscle left in my arms to propel myself as my legs tired. Most importantly: I smiled. Smiling in a race is the best thing that you can do to keep your spirits up, and your focus on the finish line.

The final 800 meter push was uphill. Still, I'd planned to sprint this, and I pulled every energy reserve I had left to do it. I passed at least 5 people on that final stretch as we all saw the finish line, and I even had enough energy for full victory arms as I crossed the line. That was the best I've ever felt after a race. I was smiling, celebrating, feeling reassured that I was almost ready for the real race day. My final time was 1:56:30, not a PR, but as good as I'd hoped for on an extra hilly training race without any taper. Bring on the home stretch of training! Next time I'm going for a PR!