But there was some running to be had this weekend as well. After a year of talking about it, my brother had finally pulled on some running shoes and logged in the miles during lunch. Sure enough, he challenges me to the 10 Mile 'Broad Street' Run in Philly. "Just 10 miles? Down one road? How hard can that be?"...ahhh, hubris.
We woke up around 7, had some coffee and gave baby a good-bye kiss then jogged out the door. I had expected it to be a little damp and chilly so I wore shorts, but a tight long-sleeved top with a light tech-top above that and my running hat. The morning had rained earlier and was still threatening by the time we made it to the race start. A little breezy, and chilly, I was very glad to have planned ahead. With a big 'Good luck' hug, chas and I went to respective corrals.
I felt good. I was in the first corral, and I even moved up to the front of the pack. It was only 10 miles! A straight run! I had visions of PR's in my eyes as I took to the starting line. For those who haven't been to a big race start, typically the way it happens is that there are wheelchair races that go first, then the pros, then the first amateur pack, which I typically qualify for. So they announce "Five minutes 'til Wheelchair racers! Wheelchair racers take your mark!" This will usually mean that they'll sound a gun for the wheelchairs, then the announce when the runners can go, then sound a second gun for the footrace to begin. Well I don't know if something went wrong or if they had a miss-start or something because suddenly I hear "Runner's get set! GO! *boom*!!" With a moment of confusion, everyone just takes off, one big heard of elite runners, amateurs and somewhere in the mess the wheelchair racers.
But we go, and I feel great. I'm huffing along at a good clip, dodging the camera crews and spectators that crowd the starting mile and begin to feel my place in the herd. Running a very introspective sport and if you ask me what I think about when running, I couldn't tell you. I think about a whole lot, but a whole lot of nothing. Much of the time is spent monitoring how I feel. How are my legs? Ok. Me knees don't hurt, that's good. I'm breathing well, 'inhale, exhale', my head doesn't hurt. Am I thirsty? Hungry?
It's hard to explain but there is something called the 'V02 Threshold'. As you exercise your body uses up a lot of oxygen and much of it gets used as a sort of muscular vacuum cleaner, the oxygen 'sucks' up the nasty chemicals produced by muscles working hard. The V02 threshold is the limit at which your various body-systems can get fresh oxygen to the muscles and if you pass it, these nasty chemicals start to build up and cause fatigue and pain and 'heaviness' etc. Long story short, you start to pant, and turn red, and sweat and it's not a good thing if you still have miles and miles to go.
One of the skills you learn as a runner is to correlate how you feel at any given moment with your V02 threshold and to back off or speed up according to the race. Well, I crossed that first mile in just under 6 minutes, a very good pace for me and definitely over my limit so I decided to back off a hair. And then a little more. Then a little more. Suddenly my mental alarms started blaring and my control room's lights were turned red.... Something was very wrong. I knew that I was well under my max V02, yet I couldn't stop panting, and I mean PANTING. The next thing I know I am a mess of sweat and I'm barely moving. I was experiencing the runner's equivalent of a persistent check-engine light and steam pouring out the radiator. At around 1.5 miles into a 10 mile race I was so far into the red-zone I had to pull to the side and walk. This was not good.
With the fastest runners still whizzing by me, I pull to the side and take off my t-shirt, then my long sleeve. I would have just thrown it away but it was actually a really nice (and expensive) shirt so I balled it up started to jog. No good. I walked for about 5 minutes to the first (the first!) water station and had about 3 cups of the ice water & gatorade. I splashed some in my face and just started to sort of trot along. Slowly I felt the engine temperature needle dip back into the red zone, then to the yellow. Hesitantly, I pushed the accelerator a little bit and started to move. This was some of the toughest running I've ever done, water at ever station, gatorade when I could, another 2 minute walk break and ultimately I was looking at making 8 minute miles (my marathon pace is around 7:20/mile, it might sound close, but 40 seconds a mile is a huge difference). Whenever the sun broke through the clouds I felt like I was in a sauna. My breath felt like hot syrup pouring out my mouth, it was terrible.
After a while I did start to feel slightly better, and then by mile 8 or 9 I felt something close to Ok. I finished with total resignation to the race, just happy to not be out there, and of course within 10 minutes of crossing that line it started to drizzle. Ahh, that felt good. Then it started to rain. Ahh... this is a little unpleasant. Then it started to pour... Ahh, crap. So now I put my long sleeves back on and find shelter under a tree hoping to find my brother sometime soon. In his credit he finished with a strong 1:30 (strong? actually that's terrific, congrats chas) and we make our way back to the subway with the herd.
So there it is, I think I finish around 1:14, not great but elated to have finished this one. It wouldn't have looked to good if it were I who dropped out of my brother's first race, ehh?
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