Remember in my last post when I wrote that @ and I would be running together in her first distance race, the Soldier Field 10 miler? Remember how I was all, “she’ll bring the speed; I’ll bring the endurance.” Turns out I brought a whole lot of nothing.
Don’t get me wrong I was there. And it all started out great. Lindy and I managed to find each other at the start line (which we tend to have trouble doing), @ was pumped, I punching the air and doing little dance moves. God, I am so weird sometimes. So the three of us started, and I was playing part cheerleader/part pacer/part storyteller, and I felt great. We were spot on pacing an 11:30 minute mile. Lindy dropped back after mile 3, and @ and I kept going. Then came mile 5… and I became quiet and tired and just kind of sick of running. I kept going. I took a GU. I kept running. The way I remember it, somewhere after mile 6, I said, “@, leave me behind. You must go on with out me.” Only it wasn’t that dramatic.
I walked a little. I ran even less. Lindy, who was also not super pleased with her race either, found me. I told her to leave me behind too. And I crossed the finish line at 2:03:40. Ug.
Well, @ had a great race, easily keeping pace and crossing the finish line alone. And really, that’s what matters.
I, on the other hand, do not have one solid excuse for my performance. I might have felt a little queasy or tired or dehydrated. I wasn't properly attired (I was convinced it was going to be cold and overcast, despite the fact that Weather.com kept telling me the opposite). I don’t know. I think I just kind of gave up. In reality, I didn’t treat Soldier Field like I treated my last race. I just kind of showed up thinking I could do 10 miles, no sweat. I mean, I can in theory, but everyone has a bad day, a bad run, a bad race. One cannot discount that every race is separate from the last, and distance is still distance.
We move on -- to marathon training which starts in a couple of weeks (holy hell!).