Nut Job (5k + First Half Marathon) Race Report

I ran my first Half Marathon today, ladies and gentlemen. Here's how it went down (sorry it's so long, but the TL;DR at the end should explain everything)...

Today was the second half of the "Nut Job" challenge: a 5k last night at 6PM with the half marathon this morning at 7AM. The 5k, as reported earlier, was won in the female division by an 11 year old girl. Might want to keep an eye on her in the future.

The races could be run individually, but I opted for the Nut Job and signed up for both, even though it was going to be my first Half. "Why not?" I thought, "I usually run 3 or so miles every Saturday, with my long runs on Sunday. How will this be different?" Oh, the sweet innocence of March version of me...

5k Report

Since the 5k was going to be 13 hours before the half, I opted not to go for a PR. This was hard for me, because it was my first 5k in a while, and I was sure I had a new PR in me. To remove that temptation, I a) PR'd my 5k last weekend (24:21, woot!), and b) had a friend sign up and promised to pace her and try to deliver her a new PR.

She said she wanted to try 11 minute miles (about 34:10), so I set the pace, and we were off. I've never run a 5k at that pace, so I was pretty relaxed and was looking around a lot. It was peaceful. There was a turn around at about 1.7 miles, so the first place runners were coming from the other direction around the time we hit mile 1. We saw the 11 year old girl go by, and I pointed her out to my friend. "That's the first place female right there." There were actually several kids from her running club running near her, but they were all boys.

We did the first mile in 10:47 and the second mile in 11:10, so we were doing pretty well (I've never paced someone before, so I guess that's pretty good for a first timer). Unfortunately, I accidentally hit stop on Endomondo halfway through mile 2 when I got my phone out to check our pace. Oops! But I continued to run the same pace we'd been going. About halfway through mile 3, my friend started to flag a bit, and took two short walk breaks. At the end, we were definitely under pace, and that's where my status as an amateur pace-setter was obvious; I didn't know what to say other than, "Just a half mile to go," or, "This is it, this is the last turn."

I was able to encourage a kick out of her at the end, by pointing to a woman a little ahead of us and saying, "You have to beat her." So we kicked it out, and crossed the finish line with the clock reading 35:40. "Is that a new PR?" I asked her. "No, my PR is 35:16." She seemed a little disappointed, but we still had a good time, and it was time to grab refreshments. I was disappointed too, because I felt like I'd let her down.

After we drank some water and walked around a bit, I said, "Wait a minute. We were way back at the beginning. It was a good 30 seconds or so before we crossed the starting line. We should check our chip times." Duh! So we went and checked, and sure enough, she had a new PR: 35:01. Woohoo!

Half Marathon Report

I'm glad I took the 5k slow, because I needed that energy today for the Half. I got up a few minutes before my alarm went off - nerves, I guess - and made some coffee. Now, not to be too graphic, but usually when I drink coffee on a Sunday morning, I feel a poop coming on almost right away. But this morning I didn't. Probably because I had woken up way earlier than usual, and was drinking my coffee kind of fast. In addition, my asshole and I have an understanding that if I've got shit to do, it makes sure to hold back so that shit is not one of the shits I have to do. "But no, really, shit is one of the shits I need to do this morning," I said to my asshole. Asshole wasn't listening.

For the record, I never have and I never will poop in a porta-potty. I just won't do it. A man's gotta have standards. So the poop needed to happen before I left the house or not at all. Today was shaping up to be a not-at-all kind of day.

I stopped at Dunkin Donuts on the way to the start. My traditional pre-long run energy boost is two donuts: Boston Cream and French Kruller. Don't you judge me! I am who I am! I drove to the Fairgrounds, parked my car, and listened to music while I ate my donuts. Several others were hanging around their cars, talking, and listening to music, almost like tailgate parties, except at 6:00 in the morning.

I did stop in the porta-potties twice to pee before the race. My asshole was cooperating so far. My goal for this half was 2:10, or 9:55 per mile. I signed up for the 2:10 pace group and met the pacers. They were nice guys.

(Edit: Oh, somewhere in here we started the race.)

I stayed with my pace group pretty much up through mile 8. They threw some jokes and trivia at us to keep us occupied. It really helped to pass the time. I learned what ASICS stands for, but of course I've forgotten now.

After the mile 9 water station, I noticed that I was kind of far back from the two guys leading our pace group. And every time I tried to chug back up to them, it just wasn't happening. "Oh well," I thought, "I'll just run my own pace from here." I stayed within eyesight of them through mile 9. At the end of mile 9, the Endomondo lady on my phone piped up with, "9 miles in 1 hour, 29 miutes, 17 seconds," which is right on pace for a 2:10 finish, by the way. Those pacers are badass. But then the Endomondo lady said, "Lap time, 9 minutes, 8 seconds." What? We were supposed to be going 9:55. I guess the pacers had caught up to the correct time after we'd lost some at water stations.

Anyway, I stayed within eyesight of the pace group through mile 10. After the 10 mile marker, I noticed my shorts were getting a little low. I felt along my back. Whoa, they were really low, like the elastic was around my butt instead of my waist. Good thing I was wearing compression shorts, because I have a nice ass, and it can be very distracting to other runners. I pulled them up, but they promptly shifted down again. "Dammit." I pulled off to the side and re-tied the drawstring. That took about a minute because I couldn't get the thing untied for a while. When I got started again, I had lost visual contact with my pace group.

So now I'm on my own. Well, surrounded by other runners, but as far as I know, they didn't know what the heck they were doing any more than I did. I no longer had the umbrella of comfort and success the pacers had provided. I missed that umbrella.

I started flagging a bit. My legs were tightening up, and the Gatorade from the 10.5 water station wasn't sitting well. You know why? Because I never drink Gatorade when I run. Lesson learned: don't start introducing new substances into your body on a long run. Anyway, it settled in after a few sips from my water bottle (I'm glad I brought my own) and a couple burps.

It was time for my 10 mile gel, too. I'd forgotten about it when my shorts almost fell off. I threw that in there with the newly settled Gatorade, and a couple sips of water. Off again.

But I just didn't have much left. So I really had to slow down through mile 11. "Come on," I told myself. "It's only a 5k from here. You run 5k all the time." But my legs and I do not have the kind of relationship that I have with my asshole.

Speaking of which, during mile 12, my asshole sent a memo up to let me know that it would be nice to take a shit at some point. You had your chance, asshole. You're just going to have to wait. "No worries, bro," it said, "I'm just sayin'." Good guy asshole.

It was around this time that I kept passing a woman stretching her achilles at the sign posts. She was crying/groaning a bit every time I passed her. But here's the thing: I don't remember her ever passing me. But I passed her like 4 times.

Also during mile 12, I had to stop to walk a couple times. Nothing major, but I just wasn't able to power through. That was a little disappointing. After the 12 mile aid station, I started up again, feeling good for mile 13. I found a pace, not as fast as my original, but one that I could handle. "Oh yeah, just a mile to go, let me just round this corner, and- HILL." Yeah, there's a nice hill at the end. Not particularly big. Not particularly steep. Probably would have been pleasant at mile 2 or 3, but this fucker was at 12.5. I just laughed quietly to myself. And cried a little. And, I'm not sure, but I think I farted too.

I made it up the hill somehow, and onto the track for the final half lap. I passed the 13 mile marker, and of course at this point, there's a good amount of cheering from people at the sides. "Can I kick?" I asked my legs. "No man, I don't think we've got a kick today, sorry." Round the far side. "How about a kick?" Legs told me to fuck off. 150 feet to go, "Ready to kick?" My legs kicked. Hard. And I passed about 20 people. Good guy legs.

I weighed myself before I left my house and after I got back. You know, for science. I lost 4 pounds. I drank almost 60 oz. of water, about 12 oz. of Gatorade, and 24 oz. of finish line beer, and the only bathroom breaks were the two quick pees before the race. 4 pounds. Crazy.

Here I am with my Half marathon medal and my Nut Job medal.

Splits:

mile  time  split
1     9:56  9:56
2     10:12 20:08
3     9:45  29:53
4     9:55  39:48
5     10:15 50:03
6     10:09 1:00:12
7     10:00 1:10:12
8     9:57  1:20:09
9     9:08  1:29:17
10    9:48  1:39:05
11    11:04 1:50:09
12    12:03 2:02:12
13    10:56 2:13:08
0.1   1:57  2:15:04

Chip time was 2:14:54.

TL;DR: It's 1:30PM on Sunday, and I still haven't taken a shit.