Eat Drink Run Woman

Why would anyone want to drive almost 60 miles just to run a 10K race? Well, if you’re Ms. Follows-the-Rulester like I am, then you wouldn’t be asking that question.

As I’ve been yammering about for the past 12 weeks, I’ve been following the Pfitzinger “Advanced Marathoning” 18/55 training plan with hopes for a 4-hour BQ in June. As part of the program, Pete Pfitzinger (or “Pfitz” as I like to call him, us being pals and all) recommends running three “tune-up” races of 8-15K to monitor your marathon fitness level and prepare you mentally for racing.

That’s all well and good, but what Pfitzie (another pet name I have for him) is forgetting is that, unlike him — Mr. Kiwi — I live in AMERICA, so our races are in MILES. We have our 13.1-mile half marathons and our 3.1-mile 5Ks. Sure, I’ve heard about a handful of 6.2-mile races, and a couple of 4.96-mile ones, but 8-15K races? Please. Go back to where you came from, pal.

He calls for these races to be run on Saturdays, the day before your long run. Not only have I tweaked the schedule so my long runs fall on Saturdays (which would mean I’d have to run my tune-up races on Fridays), even if I DID follow the schedule to a T most races are held on Sundays. Doing my long runs on Monday ain’t an option.

But just when I resigned myself to running time trials instead of racing I saw on the NW Runner calendar that the Arlington “Walk and Roll” 10K had been rescheduled due to snow. The new date? Saturday, April 26. Huzzah! And since the race didn’t start until 11 a.m., I wouldn’t even have to drag my sorry butt out of bed at some ungodly hour.

Although I can’t recall ever visiting Arlington, I knew it was a small farm town an hour north of Seattle. I figured it wouldn’t be a big race — just a couple of local yokels with a stopwatch at the end. But hey — a race is a race!

To get an idea of what to expect I looked at the results from 2007. A whopping 35 people entered the 10K that year; the top woman in my age group finished in a little over 56 minutes. “I can beat that!” I exclaimed to no one in particular (although I did startle my kitty out of her slumber). When I plugged a 4-hour marathon into the McMillan Running Calculator, it said I should be running a 10K in a little over 51 minutes. It’d be a stretch, but that’s what I was shooting for.

I started having second thoughts about the race during my runs on the two days prior. My right calf was really tight, despite doing lots of stretching, and I couldn’t muster any more speed than just under 10-minute miles. But I figured I could always make the call on race day.

I awoke to an absolutely gorgeous morning — on the cool side, but not a cloud in the sky. As I ate my bowl of whole-grain cereal I entered the address for Haller Park (the race start) into Google Maps. Hmmm… it appears it’s in the middle of an industrial area. Could this possibly be a diabolical plot by the Arlington Runners Club to keep the ringer from Seattle from entering? I then Googled Haller Park and found a slightly different address for it on the web site for the Arlington Chamber of Commerce. When I entered that address into Google Maps nothing came up. Perhaps those Arlingtonites don’t want us city slickers coming to muck up their town.

I finally found some reliable directions on the Seattle Bike Tours web site (what the Arlington locals refer to as “Haller Park,” Google Maps and Mapquest call it “Arlington Park”). Crisis averted, I loaded my gear and 1-liter bottle of water into the car and took off, leaving my darling snoozing away in bed (he thought about joining me for the race but was up late shooting photos and getting hit on my drunken Seattle University alumnae since he conveniently “lost” his wedding ring. Bastard).

Where was I?

I arrived at Haller Park about an hour later to see a rather large group milling about. They had set up finishing chutes for the 5 and 10K races, and even had an actual timing clock. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as small-fry as I thought!

A band was playing under the gazebo and a bunch of families were laid out on blankets on the lawn, basking in the sun. It was truly a warm and fuzzy moment — think puppy dogs and lollipops, kittens and gumdrops (although I guess if the lollipops and gumdrops got all warm and fuzzy, that’d be gross).

Since I had downed the liter of water during the drive my first stop was the bathrooms. I headed to the women’s room, only to see the door was propped open with a trash can, indicating it was out of order. D’oh! But given my screaming bladder I decided to assess the situation. If faced with a bowl full of poo then I’d head to the men’s room, but if it was clean, I’d take a chance (after all I just had to tinkle). I was grateful to see that while the water level in the bowl was quite high, there were no floaties. I emptied my bladder, making sure my contribution wouldn’t cause the bowl to runneth over.

With about 25 minutes to go before the race start I decided to do a couple of 1/2 mile warmup laps. As I stretched I tried to look like a SERIOUS RUNNER™, hoping to psych out the other SERIOUS RUNNER™s in my midst. After finishing my second warmup lap my bladder started talking to me again. Even though I didn’t have much to void — a tinklette, if you will — the thought of teetering over an almost over-flowing bowl didn’t appeal me so I waited in line for the men’s room.

By then we were about 5 minutes from race start, so the director called us all over to line up (both races started at the same time). I started assessing my competition and was anxious to see a rather sporty-looking woman who was in my age group. I told myself to relax and just enjoy the race.

The director then asked the slower runners to step back a bit to give room to the faster runners, which meant I went from about 3 feet from the start line to about 4 feet. The starting line consisted mostly of men, but there was one woman representin’. She looked speedy too, in her bright green running tank and Nike running pants. I’d be keeping an eye on her.

The director counted down from 10 and we were off. A couple of the 5K women sprinted past me, but again I forced myself to relax. I kept telling myself they probably were race newbies who went out too fast. Sure enough, I passed them in less than half a mile. My next victim target was an older man who I later found out was 79. The path twisted and turned, and my strategy was to run on the inside of each corner. Well, Mr. 79 had the same plan, so he thwarted me at every turn. But I was finally able to make my move and passed him.

Because it was such a small race I knew exactly who was in front of me — Ms. Green Shirt and two other women who appeared younger than me (the sporty gal I spied at the start was nowhere to be seen). About a mile into the race the trail turned to gravel and I saw Ms. Green Shirt slowing down. A quarter mile later I passed her, noticing that she was breathing quite heavily. I felt bad for her, but also got a boost by passing her.

I tried not to consult Garmin — I just wanted to run at a speed that felt good, but challenging — but at one point I looked down to see I was running about 8-minute miles; SHAZAM! However, I knew I should probably slow it down a tad if I were to make it the entire 6.2 miles.

In addition to having competition, another plus to running a race rather than a time trial is having the roads blocked off. The smaller intersections had volunteers, but a police officer was directing traffic at the large one. As I approached I saw I might have to stop, so I pleaded with him to let me pass. He obliged, and I thanked him profusely.

Shortly after the 5K turnaround the road started a gradual uphill. It wasn’t bad, and I knew I’d appreciate the downhill momentum it would provide on the way back. I was still the third lead woman, and from what I could tell, the first 40-49er (let’s hear it for the Cougars!). I saw the lead woman make the turn around and cheered her on as we passed each other. I did the same for the second woman (I figured it’d be good karma). I finally reached the turnaround and was able to gauge how far ahead I was from the rest of the pack. I had a considerable lead, but still had 3.1 miles to go.

I was concerned when I didn’t see Ms. Green Shirt; perhaps she decided to turn around at the 5K mark? I started to tire by mile 4.5 but forced myself to go on. My luck ran out when I hit the large intersection again, as the officer stopped me to let a couple of cars through. However, I probably only lost a couple of seconds.

As I hit mile 5 I could see I was closing the gap on the second lead woman. However, I didn’t have it in me to kick it in high gear and pass her. But as I hit the short steep downhill just before the finish I picked up the pace, rounded the corner and saw the clock read 49:56! I had too far to go to finish in under 50 minutes, but I sprinted to a 50:12 finish. WOOP WOOP!

The lead woman came over to congratulate me and thank me for cheering her on. She’s getting ready to run her first marathon in Vancouver next weekend, so I gave her some pointers. I then headed over to the food & water stations and grabbed myself a hot dog, chips and water. Just as I was getting ready to pull out of my parking space I heard them say something about handing out the awards. I couldn’t leave without picking up my major award!

While getting 1st in my age group and third woman overall certainly was a thrill, I was particularly pleased with my time. I’ve never run so fast before! (It was just over 8-minute miles). First thing I did when I got home was to plug in my time into McMillan. My predicted marathon finish? 3:55:35. Guess I’ll just be lounging on the couch eating bon-bons between now and June! Heck, I bet I don’t even have to run the North Olympic — I can just send my 10K results to the BAA and have them plug them into McMillan. They’ll clearly see I’m capable of running a BQ time.

(Oh, and in case you’re wondering, my darling DID lose his wedding ring, but it’s not too surprising (or distressful). Now that he’s a running fool he’s lost a lot of weight, and the ring kept sliding off. And even though it’s the one I placed on his finger on our wedding day, it was just a cheapy his Bridezilla forced him to buy at Sears two days before. He considers the sapphire earring I gave him to be his real wedding ring, but it doesn’t do much to detract drunken alumnae. I suppose it’s time to get him a “big boy” wedding ring.)