Finding my way in the world and other adventures
 
The thrill is back

The thrill is back

I’m baaaaacccckk!

Not only has my run fitness ambled back into my life after a long-extended vacation, but my fire to race and compete has also decided to make an appearance.  I was actually starting to think this was nothing short of impossible, so I’m just a little impressed.  And overjoyed.  And a little scared that it’s going to vanish again, but… whatever.

It started out innocuously enough; I had woken up fairly early on Sunday morning and flitting through my head was, “Hmmm, I could easily have some breakfast, ride into town and do the Harvest 5k that’s going on this morning.”  And then I opted against it — it seemed like a perfect, lazy Sunday and why did I want to go out and ruin it by working hard and stuff, right?

Then, at the last minute in a reckless burst of energy, I threw on some shorts, a shirt and my running shoes, hopped into my truck and drove the 10 minutes to the race site.  There were runners everywhere already and I could already feel the anticipation tinged with anxiety tinged with enthusiasm tinged with the all-too-familiar “why the hell am I doing this, anyway??”.

It was a perfect running morning — sunny, but a chilly 52*.  Started out as an almost windless day, though that luck ran out before the race began and the breeze became something to negotiate.  I paid my money, got my lucky 999 race number and then wandered around, trying to keep warm, amazed at the number of people this local event brings in.  It seems I wasn’t the only non-lazy crazy person in town.

Soon it became time to do a little stretching and convincing my legs that we had some work to do (easier said than done!).  Ran easily around the block a few times, then tacked a couple sets of strides on the end of that, which dumped me right into the starting corral, to nervously shift back and forth until the gun went off.  I had very little in the way of race strategy planned; mostly I was determined to go out hard and hang on tight.  I knew I’d have the wind at my back for the first half of the race and would fight it coming back — my thought was to gain as much as possible while having a bit of a boost (you know, like Red Bull giving you wings).

The gun went off and the first quarter mile was a frustrating stop-and-start effort of not running over the walkers who mistakenly seeded themselves at the front of the start corral. After finally finding some free pavement, I felt myself get into a groove.  I wasn’t wearing my Garmin, so I ran by feel:  hard, but not yet blowing up, feeling like I was on the edge of something I might be able to hold for the full 3.1 miles.  You know, pretty much just winging it.

The first mile came up quickly:  having to run around so many people had kept me mentally occupied, I’ll say that much  And – at getting it in around 8:05, I was pretty happy with this pace.  The best I had run in the recent past (within the last year) was an 8:30m/m pace so this was a little morsel of unexpected happiness, like finding a quarter on the ground.

The second mile started to remind me what it was like to actually RACE a 5k, but the wind was at my back most of the way, and I pushed forward, trying not to think about running against that wind.  As the second mile time clock came into view, I was shocked to see a number that started with 15:xx.  Huh?  I did a mile in something sub-8?  Uh oh…I think I’m in trouble…

By the time I was partway into the third mile, I was painfully reminded that while a 5k is a short race, it’s 3 miles of red-lining agony if you’re doing it right.  And I think I was at least in the ballpark of doing it right.  By the time I had about a half mile to go, my stomach was rumbling about not wanting to hold on to breakfast anymore.  We negotiated, I asked for another 4 minutes, give or take, and somehow we came to an uneasy truce.  I kept up my pace as best I could, and finally threw myself across the finish line, ready to hurl.

And I couldn’t believe what I saw when I stumbled into the Finish corral:  24:28.  Really?  Is that possible?  Not only a sub 8:00 m/m pace, but my fastest 5k time in probably close to two years?  Again… really??  I didn’t know how, but I figured someone was pranking me…

But no – it actually was true!  And I was amazed, smiling ear to ear like a fool.  And really damn proud of myself.  See, for the past month I’ve been busting my butt to run more.  It won’t seem like a lot to most, but I had put in a couple of consistent 25 mile weeks, running 5-6 days a week, and apparently – every once in a while – training and hard work pay off.  Huh. Whodda thunk it?  (On a side note – it was kind of like when in college my senior year I came to the mind-bending conclusion that reading the lecture material BEFORE class would actually help me understand it better… I mean, that was pretty electric stuff I was coming up with there)

The last time I did a 5k — almost exactly a month ago, actually — my time was 27:09.  So… a month of training garnered me almost 2.5 minutes on my 5k time? Wowsa.  That was quite the revelation.  And motivator!  My brain instantly went to:  “…with just a little more training, maybe some interval and tempo runs, maybe I can get myself back to my 7:30m/m pace days… and perhaps – just maybe! – I could ROCK the Vegas Rock ‘n’ Roll half marathon…”  If I’m not careful, pretty soon I’ll be scheming on how to qualify for the Olympics…

I haven’t felt this stoked about anything that causes me this much work in just about forever.  Or, at least it feels like that.  I keep half-wondering when I’m going to wake up and return to my “eh, who cares…” self that I’ve been the past two racing seasons.  And then I think — I wonder what happens if I can keep this going?

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