I'd planned on running the Platte River Half Marathon ever since I ran the relay last year as part of the team "Sausage Racers" (a tongue-in-cheek/ ironic name as my family has a background in the sausage production business, and I'm a vegetarian). Last year it irritated me that people were able to run a race farther than me. Not this year!
I've been running 30- 40 miles per week as part of my Hal Higdon-based training plan to prepare me for my first (successful) marathon next month, so I knew that a half-marathon would not be a problem-- this would be my fourth. The weather was supposed to be lousy, with temperatures in the forties and rain/sleet/snow. Like most people, I was very surprised to see the sun this morning! Sure, there was two inches of snow on my car, and the temperature was 38 degrees when I woke up, but SUN! Sun, I can do! It only improved by the time I parked my car at Arapahoe Community College, as the temp there was 45 degrees! I knew I wouldn't even need a jacket, as there was a bag drop at the starting line, so I could pack my warm-ups in there. Off to the races!
GO! I hit the path through the streets of downtown Littleton, trying to keep a reasonable pace and not get caught-up in the excitement, as I was in the first wave with runners that were much faster than me. I got passed... A LOT! That's okay; I'll see you smarmy bastards in a few miles when I kick for the finish! I could hear the angry RunKeeper woman yelling at me from my iPhone giving me splits. The first few never mean much, as the GPS always gets a bit confused in traffic. But, by my 2-mile split, she was telling me that I was running a 7:58/ mile average. I knew that had to be wrong, because that's down in my 5K speed zone. No way... By mile 4 I had dropped it to 7:55, and it was holding! I still knew this was wrong, and as I checked my reported mileage compared to the marked race mileage, sure, it was a bit high, but damn... I was flying!
I carry an Amphipod hand bottle, because I require more fluid than the average athlete (if you saw me running, you'd know why). I really don't know why more people don't do this-- I probably passed 50 runners because of the fact that I only had to stop at one aid station to fill-up. Plus, when I stop, it's VERY difficult for me to start back up... ouch! Around mile seven or eight, racers were starting to drop off their pace and I'm passing more of them, and I feel GOOD. RunKeeper still claims that I was running sub-8, so my pace was very steady, regardless of what it really was. I was planning on kicking down into the low-sevens at mile twelve, until THEY passed me...
At about mile ten or so, two women passed me; not a big deal, but they were the first people to do so in quite a while. What made this exceptional was that the younger one cut me off SHARPLY! In fact, we even had a bit of contact, but no "I'm sorry" from her... no, she just kept running. I guess what happened next would best be called "run-rage". A shot of angry adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I decided she was not going to get away with it. I uttered an audible "OH, HELL NO!" and took off in pursuit. Now, they were both running very quickly, probably around a 7:30 average or so, but that didn't matter-- they were NOT GOING TO BEAT ME. I knew I wouldn't be able to pass them on a flat area, but I had a plan. Around mile twelve, there is a big hill as the course follows 8th Avenue and goes over Interstate 25. I knew from reading posts that this is where everybody dies. Not me. Almost every training run I've ever done includes hills; I live on the west end of Lakewood-- don't mess with me!
I'm hanging right behind them at the base of the hill, but the path is very narrow. I saw an opening, and jumped in front of the runner that cut me off-- TAKE THAT! The other gal was quicker, and I had to do some maneuvering reminiscent of the 1980s video game "Pole Position" to get around her, but BAM, I was gone! After the hill, the course hangs a sharp left for the half-mile straightaway to the finish. I was still cruising pretty good, when here comes gal #2 up next to me! She says something to me, which I couldn't make out-- probably a compliment for how fast I went up the hill, but my response was not cordial. I let out another "OH, HELL NO!", and took off at a speed I haven't hit since high school! Looking at my GPS it was around six-minute mile average, which is astonishing to me.
Now, my best half-marathon time to date was a 1:56 in February, and I was realistically expecting something around a 1:53 today. I really wanted to break 1:50, but I knew that was crazy. So when I got to the point where I could see the finish line and the clock, I was very pleased to see the time click over 1:49:00-- yea, I'm going to do it! However, I'm still in Steve Austin, Six-Million Dollar Man mode, so I didn't read it correctly. My nerdy eye glasses were bouncing so much that I didn't see it was ACTUALLY 1:47! Holy hell, how did I run that fast?
My apologies to both women. I'm not sure what snapped in me! I'm sure they think I'm unstable (they might be right) based on my reaction on the final stretch. But endorphins-plus-adrenaline is a powerful combination! And, don't cut somebody off during a run! Bad runners! Bad runners!
