The During ... Trilogy Piece, Part 2

Happy Monday to you!! I won't discuss the fact that it's raining, it will be freezing (literally) overnight and there's a chance of snow in our forecast for today! Instead, I'll pick up where I left off yesterday as we'd just bounded out of the starting line at the Rock the Parkway Half! Today's adventure:

The During

As you might recall, I was not only overcome with some emotion at the starting line, but I also had a very sudden urge to pee. My only option at that point was to leave the course to hit the porta potties a few yards to the side, but I couldn't bring myself to do it with my chip timer already started. While I wasn't focused on time, I didn't want to start in a hole, either. So, off I went!

Just after the start was the U-turn where we could see the elite racers begin while we were still in the corrals. Here's the view from the racers' vantage:

There go some more out of the start, there are some waiting, and there are all
of those porta potties. Taunting me.

I was totally distracted by my, "Am I going to go to the bathroom or what?" issue, but I did manage to sneak in some thoughts regarding my pace. I know better than to blow out of starting line, that's for sure. But, having put myself still a bit ahead of where my training should have put me, I was surprised that my pace felt reasonably comfortable. On the flip side, I wasn't so much surprised as annoyed in a "I-seriously-knew-it" way when I felt the humidity starting to coat me during that first mile. There were storms forecast for the next day, and Saturday's humidity was supposed to be 93%. Perfect for the first hit of it, right on race day. BLEH!! I could only think, "Eh, what's one more thing?" I really shouldn't have asked that ...

Hey, remember how this course was billed as flat? Yeah, total lie. While it doesn't have steep hills, the entire course rolled. And, many of those inclines were sustained. In fact, the better part of the first two miles went up. Needless to say, I needed to do a major mental shift with regard to my expectations of the course and move into accepting what is and not looking for what I thought. That's quite a task for someone with a wee bout of race anxiety who can't decide if she'd really needs to go to the bathroom or if the anxiety is producing phantom pee pressure. Tough call. My brain was all. over. the. place. working to focus and come up with a strategy that worked for me, but my real key to success was relying on the faith of my experience. This route was new, but the experience was not. I knew I could tackle it.

Somewhere after the two mile mark was the turn-around point for the 5Kers (I was a bit tempted to turn, just sayin'.). And, look, there was a shot at relieving myself ...

I don't really know why I resisted going to the bathroom other than I did have enough nerves going on to wonder if it was really necessary. Had I been totally chill, I couldn't have written off the urge. But, I wasn't. So, I rolled the dice, and I carried on. I don't necessarily recommend that strategy, but it's what I chose.

Here's the view just past that point:

As I closed in on the third mile, I made a major shift in strategy. Given more (and, sustained) inclines that I expected, the humidity and my training as it was, I gave myself a walk break. I have never walked that early in any race for any reason, but it was the smartest thing I could have done. I was listening to the 2:30 pacer in the corrals who specifically said she will walk for a minute during every, single mile. Period. There was no apology; it just was. Because of how I was feeling, I decided to hand over my struggles to her expertise, and I threw in a walk. The first thing I said to myself was, "This is a dangerous pattern to start so early," to which I responded to myself, "I think the pacer is smarter than I am." She was also behind me which also told me I needed to slow down anyway if I was to enjoy the next 10 miles at any level. So, walk for a bit I did.

I employed that strategy for many of the inclines to come. So did almost everyone around me. I have never seen so many people walk during a race. Ever. I have to admit I appreciated hearing a lot of complaining -- not that others felt mislead by the literature (seems that was just me), but you couldn't be on a hill without someone, if not someones, complaining about its duration or simply its very existence.

It was nice to know I wasn't alone in my thoughts!

The physical demands of the day were officially apparent by the time I would have finished a 5K, and I realized this race would be more demanding mentally than I expected. I fully embraced everything I couldn't have predicted nor expect, and I softened the experience by going to my happy place: making sure I took some pictures even if I didn't feel like it at the moment like when I saw these creatures:

They were part of a group handing out water at one of the aid stations. I really had no idea why they were in cow costume (and, I bet they felt worse than we did in the humidity), but it was pretty funny. (The line of red shirts at the top of the picture are water station volunteers on the other side of the out-and-back course. I'd be seeing them much later.)

I heard the course was pretty, so I made a point to look up and around. Saying the route was flat was a lie; that it was pretty was absolutely true. Here's a mix of pretty and funny:

That fountain is depicted on the finisher medal. Frankly, most
of us just wanted to run through it.

This group of ladies was hysterical. And, man, could they YELL. You heard 'em from way back, and they were there for the duration as there they were again when I came back around! I was thankful the sign on the left did not apply to me as I know it does to many. And, might I mention that my troubles seemed to disappear as I had no desire to pee anymore? (Where'd it go ?) Things were looking up!
Things were also looking strange!

Little did I know that as we rounded this corner heading toward our turn-around point that there would be a big, swooping down-then-up hill. I spare you the details, but it totally sucked. This very pretty spot was on that part of the route, though:

Just beyond the horizon line of the pic, the painful swoosh.

I can't even remember where this next fountain was because I think it came after getting my butt over the hill. No matter, it was cool to see:

There were a lot of people lining the course the entire way cheering for family and friends or simply watching what exactly was blocking the morning traffic patterns. I overhead a man near the fountain above say, "Um, running for hours. Down a street. For fun ?! No. Thank. You."

With five miles to go, I fully accepted that my strategy to walk when needed was working. I will grant you that my walk was more of an ass-haul, but even that gives a little relief from the run. I wasn't thrilled to do it, but I wasn't disappointed, either. It also worked particularly well as the wind gusts kicked in. These were not small breezes of relief, either. They were the ones that hit you out of nowhere bringing in the storm system. Resistance training at its most annoying finest.

So, the run-haul-it strategy held as I wanted to finish as strong as possible, and I wanted to do so in such a way that I didn't feel the need to just collapse in a heap. That's no good for anyone! The strongest finish I could give -- no matter what that meant -- was on tap for me.

Speaking of on tap ...

These guys were on the other side on our way out. At that point, their tally was around 7. Almost two hours later, well, there you go. I didn't mean to cut that guy's head off, by the way. I was just tired.

For all of the things I either didn't expect or was wrestling or was managing, the biggest surprise was that I wasn't counting down the miles in relief. Every mile marker brought about some kind of, "Oh, there we are," response, but I wasn't feeling desperate to have them tick down. I chalked that up to experience and was thankful that there was something I could just mentally bank as "what it is" without feeling the need to do anything about it. I admit that seeing this particular marker was a sight for some sore eyes, though:

For the last few miles, spectators would call out, "That was the last hill!" or, "It's all down hill from here!" I learned a few miles back to not believe anything any of them said -- was their definition of "hill" and ours the same? Do they know and remember every, single hill on the route? Did they think it was a hoot to toy with our weary minds? Whatever the intention, most of which I honestly think were to motivate and support, I ignored it and just assumed a hill was coming even on the last mile. I've run more than one race where the finish line has been up a hill (mean!!), so I just got on board and smiled at the mile marker at 12!

I was thankful the last mile was, indeed, flat. That, or I was too delirious to realize. Either way, I was closing in, and it felt great:

I'm back there on the right, but the best part of this pic is the
dude in the black shirt who got around the gates to take pictures
of whomever he was supporting. That was one proud guy; I
always love to see that kind of happy!!

I finally spied the finish line in focus. Sweeeeeet! Interesting to
realize is that my shirt got just as droopy as the rest of me! Ha!

If I thought the mile marker at 12 was a sight for sore eyes, you can imagine how I felt when I saw my family near the finish complete with Aaron holding high the sign he made and kept from last year! This one ...


That's really quite something to see at that point ... it made
my tired mouth smile!

Also a sight for sore eyes? THIS CREW:

And, tomorrow, it's the after party!! Tune in then for the run wrap up!! See you then!