The picture is the post-it note I wrote my race goals on a
couple of days prior to the race. Since I read something like this a few years,
I try to have 3 race-day time goals:
Goal A: All the stars are aligned, best possible scenario;
Jesus loves me, optimum performance goal.
Goal B: The most reasonable goal, sometimes things go
haywire, but Jesus still loves me and this is what I was shooting for.
Goal C: The slowest acceptable time. Jesus still loves me,
but maybe today wasn’t my day, and I should still be able to gut it out and
make it happen.
This was my 7th Half Marathon, and in the days
leading up to it, I was feeling nervous. I explained to Julie that it wasn’t
butterflies nervous; it was lack of confidence nervous. You see, I had done the
training, but since the
I purposely started out at the back of the pack. I had a
goal in mind, but on this day, in my head and in my heart, I wasn’t sure what
was going to happen. I wasn’t sure who showed up today. I crossed the start
line and started my stopwatch. I passed a few people and tried to settle into a
comfortable pace. If I was going to beat 2 hours, I needed to run at most, a
9:09 average pace. At the first mile, I checked my watch. 8:00 - too fast. At
the second mile, my watch showed 16:17 - still too fast. Third mile showed
24:39. At this point, I still felt pretty good, and in my mind I was thinking,
“Well, I’ve banked a little time for when I get to the hills”. I realize this
is not an intelligent race strategy. I’ve always had trouble regulating my pace
when I run alone.
Anyway, I loved the little trip near old town Louisville , although I
would have liked to go right down Main
Street because it is such a pretty downtown. As we
started climbing up the hill, I was thinking it wasn’t too bad, a steady climb,
not quite as steep as Holly Street
in Thornton ,
which I run up pretty regularly. Then we kept climbing and it kept getting
steeper. I can honestly say that as I was struggling to get up the portion in
the open space, I thought of Meg Menzies, the young mother who was killed by a
drunk driver January 13. Honoring her memory and realizing that I was still
able to run definitely helped me keep going up that hill. I did walk for a
short time after that hill while I took a Honey Stinger gel, and I did walk
quickly through the water stops I did take. (Side note: the volunteers at the
water stops are awesome, and do a great job! Be sure to thank as many
volunteers as you can when you race!!)
I was also rewarded with a gorgeous view of the snow-capped
Rocky Mountains, bathed in the sunlight of a beautiful Colorado day. I saw James and as I passed
him I commented “Nice job on the course. That was a good hill.” He laughed as I
ran by, because he knew something I didn’t. Through the end of that cul-de-sac,
after a short trail, there was ANOTHER hill. Egads. I did know that once we got
past the hilly portion, it was mostly downhill to the finish, so that kept me
going.
There was an out-and-back portion around mile 6.5-7 that
included this cute little switchback that was a mini version of the mile-long
switchback at the 10k Turkey Trek and whatever I was feeling at that point, it
made me smile.
I was watching my time, and even at this point, I was pretty
sure I could beat two hours, but I wasn’t taking it for granted. I wanted to
get to 10 miles, to know that I only had a 5k left. However, somehow, I missed
the 10 mile marker, and I was starting to get a little worried, as my legs were
getting tired. Eventually I saw Mile 11 and knew that, based on my time, I
could PROBABLY walk a bit and still beat 2:00, or at the worst, still get a PR
(2:02:06). But there was no walking. I was determined now. I made it this far,
I needed to keep running.
After I crossed under Cherry Street and started to head back
toward the home stretch, I was running right into the wind. It was cold and
strong and discouraging. I’ve run into the wind before, mostly headed West on 120th Street
near my house. The key for me is to keep my head down and just keep pushing
forward. Eventually I could see the runners ahead turning left and knew it wouldn’t
be for much longer. I made that turn, headed into the final loop through the
subdivision, and up to Dahlia
Street . The right turn onto Dahlia was great. The
sign said Mile 13. Only .1 mile to go and I could see the Finish line. I tried
to muster up some sort of a kick and it took a second, but I found a little bit
and started looking for Julie along the route. I finally spotted her just under
the time clock, and smiled as I crossed the line. I looked down at my watch to
see 1:55:06. A PR by exactly seven minutes. I got my medal and high-five from
my friend Tom, and then cried as I hugged Julie. I did it.
