Tales of Slow Brave Athena

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February 16, 2005

Freescale Race Report

I wrote this on Sunday evening...

We left the motel at 5:30 in the morning, heading up to the starting line on the north side of town. When we were on the freeway, it began to pour, and the sky began to flash. It was raining hard enough that everyone on the freeway was slowing down to 30mph, and this is Texas—nobody seems to ever drive that slow.

We get up to the parking lot of the big box stores in front of the start line (where is the start line? the pamphlet doesn't really say, and if the parking lot wasn't entirely full at 6AM, we'd never know), and it continues to rain and thunder and lightening. I have my yellowjacket with me, which is water resistant, not waterproof.

I'm tired, I feel hung over (though I didn't drink the day before), and this half-marathon is looking like a really bad idea. I thought about bailing—a lot.

We could go to Las Manitas for some early morning huevos. Or back to bed. Or we could get some decent coffee.

Instead, I got out of the car, and went to the race. And the rain stopped.

The start of the race was the craziest thing. There was a sea of participants, and we all were heading for the road, for the starting line, and there was a fence between us and the road.

I finally did get down on the road, but I was far ahead of where I wanted to be. Ugh.

A woman across the way was about my size, wearing a white shortsleeve shirt, and bike shorts. I think they were the same ones that I had bought at Betty the day before. She was solid muscle, and she looked great. I hope I look like her someday.

It's Sunday evening when I'm writing this, and I just don't remember very much right now. I did the first mile too fast, but not crazy fast—maybe a 15 minute/mile. I didn't wear my heart rate monitor or the ganderman. I did the first, umm, seven miles with a school teacher from Sugar Land. We started off rather leisurely, at a 17 minute/mile, and at some point, we started speeding up. And then at some point, I went on alone.

It was warm, it was humid. My feet were damp. It was sunny. I would have been perfectly happy in a singlet rather than a short-sleeve shirt and a yellowjacket. But really, things went fairly well. I had hydrated like a fiend all week, and on the course, I drank lots of water, took my electrolytes, and my hands still swelled up like sausages. But, I passed lots of folks. Except the pesky walkers who would jog everytime I passed them. That got old.

I thanked all the cops and volunteers. Maybe half the cops would give me this huge smile, and say that I was welcome, or that it was my day! The rest were stoic and cop-like. The volunteers seemed enthused to be there, too. As did the spectators, who seemed to be having front yard parties. Lots of cute dogs.

Richard had told me about these regulars who are always early on the race course. They sit in lawnchairs, drink beer, smoke cigarettes, and have a sign that reads Come join the Dark Side!. I was looking so forward to seeing them—but they weren't there!

So, I'd walk, and I'd pick out the last person ahead of me, and think, okay, the woman with the Phillipians verse on the back of her t-shirt, I'll catch up to her by the second green sign. The woman with the blue jacket tied around her waist—I'll catch up with her by the light. And that was how it went. As long as they didn't jog. :)

My hands couldn't close, they were so swollen. Keep your feet in a line, keep your arms at ninety degrees, hold that belly in, keep moving. Make those feet go faster!

At about mile nine, I caught up with a guy who didn't look too good. I asked him how he was doing, and he gave a true Texan reply. "Oh, I'm doing pretty good. But I got a blister, and I don't know if I can make it." All with this tone of, I'm fine, how are you?. That was me in the Portland Marathon, just further along and with no attempt to try to be heroic. Poor guy. Boy, I know just what he was feeling. So I was the annoying person (or maybe the helpful person, who knows) who tried to give him a pep talk.

I said the stock things about being three-quarters of the way there, and that distance racing is all mental. If this was easy, everyone would be doing this. Just gotta walk through this, and it will get better. I told him all about my blister, my special friend, and how I finished in spite of it. And he could too. Just break it down—make it to the next water stop. Or the next light. Or the next corner. Or the next driveway.

I think back about this now, and I think, crap, I sure can be annoying. I might as well been going on about how life is suffering but we choose our own reality. But I am, or at least try, to be a reality-based lifeform. Anyways.

By the end of this, he seemed to be feeling better. Or maybe he was just sick of this pollyanna woman who wasn't from around here. My work here is done...

I kept hearing spectators make remarks about Mexico, and after the third or fourth one, I thought maybe there might be something causing it. I finally associated it with one of the joggers ahead of me. I finally caught up with her (she liked to jog), and asked her what her t-shirt said. She looked at me with some panic, and I realized that maybe her english wasn't so great. The shirt, of course, read Mexico with a N1ke sw00sh beneath it. Oh!

Bienvenidos!, I said. Gracias, she said. I passed her. A block later, she jogged past me. (I love using my bad spanish on folks)

But, I made good time—how fast, I don't know (according to the records, um, 16:27/mile). I think I made a negative split but that might require me to remember my halfway time (I did: 16:57/M v 15:59/M). I don't even know my official finish, or my unofficial finish (3:41:05 or 3:35:27). All I know is that I PRed (last best, 3:53), and that I could have done better still if I had started speeding up earlier. However, since I can't remember anything at this point...

I'm all but injury free. I had a couple little blisters between toes, a sunburn on my face, and I have a really unhappy raw spot beneath one breast (damn it, that usually happens with the heart rate monitor. I would have thought that it wouldn't happen without the hrm), but otherwise, other than being hungry and tired, I'm fine.

We came back to the room, I did an ice bath, and then we went out of the first of several meals and several beers (okay, and the strongest margarita I've ever drank at La Reyna), and even mini-golf (Which I'm sure has nothing to do with my memory!)

Posted at February 16, 2005

Comments

Posted by: Megan at February 17, 2005 6:09 AM

Posted by: Lara at February 19, 2005 8:23 AM