I ran my first race today since June 27th. Hard to believe it's been that long.
I wrapped both of my feet up in compression bandages and hustled over to the Park at the last minute to pick up my race number. I brought a bag with me to check - in it, a hodgepodge of stuff I didn't really need. A phone, a gel, some water, chap stick. For a 4 mile race? Overdone, Sanders.
I felt no anxiety at all. No pre-race jitters. No desire to talk to strangers. No interest in the goody bag at the end. I just felt like I was on autopilot, jogging my way to registration to warm up, cueing my iPod up, ambling to the start line with the crowd.
Maybe I was just reflecting on the day, September 11th. Thinking about my cousin who died on Flight 95. The irony of it all; he was the CEO of a family business established in the 1940s, Safe Flight Instrument Corporation, which makes airplane safety equipment. He was also a founder of the Corporate Angel Network, which flies cancer patients to hospitals for free. My dad volunteered for the Angel Network. Ours was a family passionate about flying. On Yom Kippur, my father used to take me to Westchester Airport to watch the planes take off and pass the time before we could break the fast. That was back in the day when you could get access to a runway. Before 9/11.
The gun went off today and I just started moving. I wasn't going to try for a PR. I just wanted to check in with myself and see how much of my race "game" had atrophied during my time off. I'm a different runner now than I was in July. I have a different level of confidence, and a different goal. I wanted to see how that manifested on a timed course.
My first two miles were quite remarkable. I never stopped. Not even for water. I ran straight up Cat Hill for the first time maybe ever. I kept a very competitive pace, slightly faster than my best race pace. In mile three it occurred to me that I might be setting myself up for a PR and I got a little bit excited. I let myself run faster. Probably at a 10 mph pace if I had to guess, and that was, quite simply, the end of me.
During mile 3 I started to feel nauseous. I walked on flat surfaces and downhills, and lost time. Then, because I'd stopped, the uphills were harder than they should have been, so I had to walk some of them too. I checked on my iPod. I was probably not going to make a PR no matter what I did to catch up; I decided to just focus on finishing with steady running.
The nausea came back again a few times. I walked when I wanted to. I forgot about my PR dreams. In the end, my pace was better than I thought it would have been considering all the walking.
I haven't mentioned the pain. From mile one, with every ball strike of my foot, I felt pain. It never abated. At the end I looked for ice but missed the first aid station so instead went home and put my foot between bags of frozen broccoli and asparagus. I've really got to get some big frozen gel packs!
I am glad I ran the race today. Next weekend there is a long training run scheduled on Sunday. I'm not supposed to run long distances, but I think I will. I put in 16 miles total this week and next week hope to get up to 20, at least. Probably more. I don't know what will happen with my foot pain, if it will get better or worse, or just stay the same. One day at a time. And during the difficult parts, I think my best strategy is to do what I did today and go on autopilot.
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