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Results
| Name |
Time |
Pace |
Placing |
Div |
| Jason Grose |
1:53:33 (Official)
|
8:41 |
321/1068 (30%) |
62/116 (53%) |
| Sir Phil Patch |
2:05:18 |
9:34 |
569/1068 (53%) |
37/63 (58.7) |
Another
half-marathon is in the books. What books? Do you really think
I keep books? Maybe a corkboard with all my medals but as far
as a book, well, I guess that would be my marathon
page. But anyway….
Here
was my plan: just go out and run it, have a good time, and don’t
even think about the time. I haven’t had a decent run
for weeks and my long runs have been non-existent. I haven’t
been able to run longer than a mile without walking for I don’t
know how long so I had no aspirations to rock this run.
But
the funny thing was that I was not nervous about this. With
the pistol
range going on last week, I’ve been too busy to be
nervous and have shied away from anything resembling a hard
run at lunch for fear of wearing myself out and having it affect
the next day’s shooting. So no last minute running heroics
before the half-marathon. I even considered not signing up for
it but since Sir Phil was
running it, I’d rather deal with the sadness of the run
than the ridicule for not signing up.
I
picked up Sir Phil at 0600 and we picked up another guy for
the trip to the base. Getting there in plenty of time, I didn’t
even care that I drank a whole mug of coffee on the way. Up
until the start time, I had absolutely no nerves at all.
Like
I mentioned, I thought I’d just go out with Sir Phil and
Kevin, we’d chat, and do something in the 2 hour plus
range. No pressure, no delusions of grandeur.
We
started out and I hung with them for the first mile. People
started picking up the pace and we pointed them out, accusing
them of succumbing to the call. In stark contrast, we kept our
own little conversational pace and stayed with the mass of people.
It
was a lot cooler than last year
and the humidity was significantly less. Last
year, by the two-mile mark, I was soaked head to foot and
it hadn’t even started raining yet. Today, it was overcast
and in the 60s so I was happy. Along with our slower pace, it
was shaping up to be a nice easy run.
Then
I put my earplugs in and turned on my iPod.
Smooth
Criminal.
Yes,
I have Michael Jackson on my iPod but only two songs, the other
being Dirty
Diana because they both are great running songs. Don’t
judge until you try it.
Anyway,
a couple of things happened. First, the song got me going. Second,
I realized that I had passed the mile marker and I was feeling
absolutely no pain. Third, I was having a tough time going at
this pace. I needed to speed it up and could without it becoming
a race.
So
my thought was that I would just increase my speed and when
it started to hurt, I’d slow down.
That
was a great plan except for one thing: I was with the slow crowd
so increasing my speed resulted in me passing HUNDREDS of people
within the next mile. And you know what happens when you start
passing people, especially the chubbier ones up ahead.
“Don’t
fall for it, Grose, don’t go bolting off and then die
mid-race.”
Hey,
since when was this a “race”?
Sir
Phil and Kevin were distant memories. Like every other race
I have ever run, this became an individual venture and I lost
myself in the music. I was careful not to push too hard but
I was going at a good clip without getting tired. What the hell
was going on? I was NOT conditioned for this kind of performance.
OK,
stick to the plan, when it starts to hurt, pull it back and
in the meantime, just keep a steady pace.
The
miles went by with no pain. I kept the pace and wasn’t
even stopping for my normal 9 minute run / 1 minutes walk strategy
that I’ve been doing for years. I walked for 30 seconds
at the water stops that were every two miles but other than
that, I just kept going.
I
never did the math. I didn’t know my pace and I didn’t
extrapolate my finishing time.
I
just ran.
I
should bonk at one point, right? I mean, no real training, short
or long runs, and I was doing a respectable pace even if I HAD
been training. This can’t really pan out, can it?
The
only irksome detail about the run was that my iPod randomness
wasn’t really getting with the program. I need to make
a running playlist because I kept getting too much slow Sarah
McLachlan and Enya. I was afraid my back was going to cramp
when I kept having to reach behind me and forward through undesired
songs.
I
hit the Gu before the race, at mile 6 (because they didn’t
have water at mile 5) and at mile 10. It was just the kick I
needed and kept my miracle run going.
Coming
in the home stretch, I finally felt the rigors of running 12
miles up to that point. But I was a mile from the finish and
I wasn’t about to break completely down. I did slow down
to keep the pain to a minimum but I’ve felt a lot worse
in many other races. I pushed it a little bit but only to try
to keep pace. I was not into the whole “sprint the last
mile” attitude that I normally adopt at the end of a race.
The
end came up sooner than I could believe, although the last ½
mile was really starting to suck. In this race, they dump you
out on the track where you have to do a lap before getting to
the finish. I did have a fleeting fear that I would be passed
at the very end but I tried to fight it. Run your own race,
Jason, is what I kept telling myself.
I
came in at 1:52:53 which is almost 10 minutes slower than last
year. I’m proud of my score but was rather surprised when
I got home that I had ran that fast last year. I don’t
know exactly where I’d make up 10 minutes today but I
guess I did last year. I remember feeling MUCH worse physically
after last year’s race.
I
was accosted by the timing chip police this year. Coming through
the chute, I had little interest in what the two people staring
at everyone’s feet wanted. With my earbuds in, I could
not hear them and since my interest in their commands was non-existent,
I stumbled forward toward the people handing out medals. I wanted
my medal and then I wanted some place out of the way where I
could lean over at 90 degrees for just a few moment.
Leaving
the chute, I could see in the remaining peripheral vision I
had that the two chip Nazis were following me. Even the medal-bestower
said what I believe was something to do with handing in my chip.
After
catching my breath, I untied my chip and stood back up to an
array of stars and spots of blackness. Just as I suspected,
the two goons had followed me to get my chip and once I handed
it over, they disappeared.
A
bottle of water, a cup of Gatorade, two chocolate chip cookies,
and a banana. That’s all I needed. I passed on the bagel
since the liquid content of my mouth consisted of something
near dehydrated salt packed in a jar of sand.
Sir
Phil and Kevin came in sometime after 2 hours like they planned.
My abandoning of him does not even phase Sir Phil any longer.
He didn’t even chastise me. He’s just accepted it
and knew I would even though I assured him multiple times I
was just looking to start, jog, and finish.
Damn
you, Michael Jackson.
(but
thanks)
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