Cherry Blossom Wrapup

Unfortunately, I was unable to really post frequently on the blog about my training program - Mr. Winter and a busy work schedule had something to do with that. Nevertheless, the Cherry Blossom has come and gone this morning, and I think it's worth recording some of the specifics.

Time: 1:10:09
Pace: 7:01 min/mile

Not too shabby. My realistic goal from the outset, once I had a clear indication that 66 minutes was insanely too out of reach, was 70 minutes. I ran a hard race, went out a bit fast, and paid for it from miles 5 to 8, so I am very satisfied that I was able to nearly attain that goal and missing it by only 9 seconds.

My tape this past week was a little more extreme than anticipated. I travelled to Denver for business on Tuesday, got real dehydrated on the plane, and that resulted in a horrendous headache. So, Tuesday out. Wednesday's day long business meeting bled into the evening for dinner. So, Wednesday out. Thursday, I intentionally awoke at 4:30am (keeping myself on EST) only to see a monstrous blizzard outside. Nathan doesn't do treadmill, so Thursday out. Then, my delayed flight didn't get me home Thursday until 2:45am, so I was exhausted Friday and resolved to a measly 2 mile run. Great taper, eh?

This morning, it was a cool and slightly breezy 50 degrees with overcast skies. The weather report called for rain throughout, so Tina and Liam decided to stay home (I don't blame them at all), but not a drop fell while I was downtown. Oh well.

I awoke early and - being psyched for the race - knew that I'd never get back to sleep even though it was 5am. I had a good cereal and orange juice breakfast, and then piled on an everything bagel with PB&J for the trip downtown. I arrived and parked in front of the Washington Monument by just after 6am, and knowing it was still cold outside and the race didn't start until 7:55, I just relaxed in my car for about 40 minutes. The sun slowly rose to lighten up the clouds, and by the time I exited, it was light out.

The pre-race atmosphere was moderately electric, but muddled a bit by the cool air and dreary skies. After finding the bag storage tent, I started to wind my way back and forth through the crowd to keep warm. It's so interesting to see people prepping for a race: serious vs. relaxed, clean cut vs. ragged, chipper & giggly vs. focused and silent, old vs. young.

After a couple laps around the start area, I thought it best to warm up just a touch. A quick look around revealed most running back and forth near the western edge of the park, and there even a few elites doing windsprints. So I got behind them and did my own, overtaking them time and time again and....well, ok, so I probably jogged briskly back and forth a couple times.

The race itself was full of some key moments:

Miles 0-2.5

I wound my way through those who clearly shouldn't have been at the front of the pack, feeling very good but not overexerting. By the time I got to mile 2, the time at the marker revealed that I was going too fast to start at probably 6:45/mile. My philosophy had been to start around 7:30 and speed up consistently throughout, so either (a) I was going to blow away my estimated time or (b) more likely, I blew it. It was (b), and I knew it, but oh well.

Miles 3-5

Look, there's Bill Rodgers, the olympic and Boston champ! And I'm gaining on him (around mile 3). Um, that didn't last, and he finished around 1:07, but honestly, the guy is 59, probably didn't focus on this race, and he's still chugging along. Good for him!

Look, there's DC Mayor Adrien Fenty! And I'm gaining on him. And...at around mile 4...I'm alongside him (he sweat on me probably) and then....I've passed him! A guy for some reason chose me to talk to about Fenty, because he goes "Go and catch him!" I responded an astute "Perhaps in time, perhaps in time."

That also didn't last, for this guy had a motor and was just ticking off mile by mile at what seemed like the same consistent pace. He finished at 1:08:47, also very impressive considering his business schedule is likely slightly more busy than mine, or something like that. My only complaint? His stupid police escort on a bicycle, who insisted on riding in the pack at times, particularly around big curves, even though it made it really uncomfortable for runners to adjust.

Miles 5-8

Ok, as I passed the sign for Mile 5, the time read 35:00 exactly (half of 70 minutes, mind you), and I knew I didn't cross the start line until probably 30-45 seconds after the gun sounded, so this is good news. If I can negative split this race, I'm golden!

Soon thereafter, I hear aggressive yelling and cursing behind me, no more than 5-10 feet. Phrases included "mother f@#$#$", "oh, yeah you WERE drifting on me", "f@#$ you", "c'mon guys, knock it off and race", etc. Then, the belligerent one came up beside me and said a few more words to his nemesis, and then glided past. Then, he spat, and it sprayed all over me because of the wind. Who's the ass now, jerkoff?

Then I really started to slow down. To that point, I'd estimate my pace over the first five miles was something like 6:30, 6:45, 6:45, 7:00, 7:10. But then after mile 5, things got rough. It was where I just wanted to stop. I started asking myself "Why am I doing this?" I began to clearly think that 70 minutes was a dream at this point.

Whereas miles 3-5 I'd been pacing with the crowd, now folks started to pass me. Slowly at first, it became far more like a wave (or it appeared that way to me) during miles 7 and 8. It was hurting. Worst about it all was that since mile 3 I REALLY had to go the bathroom, but I didn't want to stop. My midsection was really tightening up, but if I stopped then my time was blown.

Then, as I continued south on Rock Creek Parkway and approached M street, I took the tiny bag of Jelly Bean Sports Beans (that had probably 4 left) and began to drift towards a volunteer holding a garbage bag. I was not all together with it. And then I hear a stern female voice behind me say "Look out" as she reasonably outstretched her arm and pushed on my shoulder. I musta been drifting right into her line and not even known it. Not good.

Out of reflex, I sped up to get out of her way, and then still made my way over to throw away the bag of beans. I kept running, but turned and profusely apologized. She was very nice about it - certainly not impressed but not reading me the riot act but instead "don't worry about it."

This must have been my Lance Armstrong moment. I had about 2 miles to go, and I was fading, and this kind of event reminded me of a stage in the 2003 Tour de France where Lance was fighting for his life up a HUGE climb, and Jan Ullrich and Iban Mayo were right on his tail. It was the last week of the tour, and the overall outcome was still very much in doubt. Lance came around a corner and - whooops - his handlebar caught on a woman's handbag. He went flying down in a heap, as did Iban Mayo. Jan and other riders were able to swerve and miss the pile, but as honorable pros they waited for Lance to remount and come back to the group. He described it as the critical moment, for his body must have been infused with some adrenaline kick or something: he not only caught the group, but a minute later raised his level about 2 orders of magnitude and simply blew away the field up the rest of the mountain. It was amazing as a bloodied, accident laden Lance had used this misfortune to spring him to his then fifth TdF championship.

Ok, so I'm not Lance. And I didn't fall on the ground. Heck, I wasn't really competing with anyone but myself. But this lil' shove was a wakeup call, and I felt like something had changed. My pace quickened slightly and my body wasn't resisting it.

So, over miles 6-8, I'd estimate that I ran 7:15, 7:30, 7:45 pace.

Miles 9-10

I resolved to do whatever I could to not slow down. And I didn't, although I didn't speed up terribly much. The pain was still there but I'd put it in a place. So, around 9.5, I started to speed up relative to the crowd - whereas before I was getting passed, now I started to catch up to those who'd passed me. There was this one woman who must have been anywhere from 40-55 years old, and she was wearing these incredibly bright red flourescent under armour pants. It was hard to miss such pants when all I'm doing is looking at the road 8 feet in front of me. I started to reel her in, and as I came up beside her I tried to give her a boost by saying "Bring it home red!" along with a positive nod. She looked at me like I'd just stuck a fork in her baby's eye or something. So, my instinctive response? "Yeah, this sucks" as I motioned to my legs as if to say it hurts. She didn't get it, and I'm not sure I did either. I was too dazed, so I resolved to (a) get away from her and (b) not talk to anyone anymore.

I saw the finish in the distance! It was a long straight away along the Potomac, and it took far longer than I'd have imagined. But I huffed it in, raising my speed dramatically in probably the last 200-300 yards. I didn't know what I needed to beat 70 minutes, but I could tell by the clock time on the finish line that I'd be close. 1:10:55 was my gun time as I sped through.

My only worthwhile memory of the finish area was the PA announcer. Probably 2-4 minutes after I'd crossed the finish line, I hear him exclaim "Good job [person's name]! Way to go [person's name]! We are all champions here!" I shared a laugh with the guy next to me on that as we both rolled our eyes.

Later today, my chip time revealed that I'd started 46 seconds after the gun, so I didn't make my 70 minutes. But I'm very confident that if I (a) train really hard, (b) commit to another 10 mile race like the Army Ten Miler and (c) don't get too busy or injured, I could definitely hit 66 or 67 minutes. It's achievable.