PF Changs RNR 1/2 Faceplant Report (Read 640 times)

Bear with this race report, it is long, but I think I learned several good lessons worth sharing (or skip to lessons at the end). More importantly, who doesn’t want to read about me falling flat on my face?? I wish I had video of that for y’all to enjoy. First, as the members of the Ladies Locker Room already heard, everything that could go wrong leading into this race, did. I forgot to check the mileage on my shoes (so they were dead with no time to break in new ones), I had gained 10 lbs over the holidays, my training blew up when work hit crunch time, and two days before the race “female time” came a week early and with a wrath I only see about once a year. Race morning came, however, and I was only mildly hung over from my business dinner the night before. This was good. I got out and on the road on time, just beating the road closures all the way through Scottsdale to Tempe. I pulled in, got a spot a bit of a walk from the finish, but easy access back to the freeway. I arrive at the LINE for the shuttles to the start and am glad I’m two hours early. I do find it funny they are shouting, “marathoners go right to the front”. Their start is in under an hour and that’s probably cutting it too close. I hope everyone from RA made it ok. While standing in line, someone was kind enough to grab a photo of me. I get to the start area an hour later (long shuttle ride) and my hangover is gone. We see the marathoners running while driving to the start area. We get off the bus and someone wishes me a PR. I wish them the same. Grabbing a bottle of water, I head to the port-o-potties and wait in a 45 minute line. I now have 15 minutes to drop my stuff off and get to my corral. No warm-up for me (or stretching). I breathe, do a quick jog to the UPS trucks, and get myself into Corral 10. I was impressed at the crowds—the race is packed! Makes PDR look small, and the marathoners have been on the course for a while, so this is all people for the half. My legs feel good (even though I was recovering from a 15 miler the week before), so I’m thinking of sticking with a 2:07 pace through the race, which is PR pace, and moving on from there if my legs felt good on the back seven. This is me, ready to go: I feel great for the first 5k and paced right about 9:40 mm, even with the crowds. There is a lot of bobbing and weaving, with walkers in the middle and on the sides. I find just off the side is the most open space, and stick there. I do thank people cheering as I pass, wave at the bands. Everything is going great! Mile 4 comes, and I wish I had taken some Ibuprofen (NSID warnings be damned)—my female problem is again raging, making my stomach feel like a character in the movie Alien. There’s nothing I can do about this so I try not to be sick, breathe through the pain, and keep going. My legs still feel good, so I can get through this. Miles 5 and 6 are good, but I notice I’m getting HOT. It’s going from 48 degrees at the start to the low 70’s very quickly, and I’m not used to it. At the water stop I drink a full cup and dump one on me. This will be my plan for the rest of the race, and I regret skipping water stop #1. I also plan to start taking vitamin water from my hydration belt at about mile 6.5 and every two miles thereafter. Recognizing the need to slow my pace down to grab the vitamin water bottle off my fuel belt, I try to be courteous and move to the side. I have to weave around people to do this, and just as I work my way around someone, my left foot snags a pothole… BOOM. From riding horses as a kid and being thrown, I instinctively land on my hip and left hand, rolling to take the momentum out. However, pavement plus body = bad. My left hand is bleeding and torn apart, my newly injured left IT band that had been happy is now mad, and when I stand up, I realize I have twisted my left knee. In my mind, curses are rolling. I WAS on pace for a PR, and at this point I’m not sure I can finish. A few runners turn around and run with me to make sure I’m ok. It had to have cost them minutes off their finishes, and I’m thankful to them. Looking at the pace I can comfortably maintain, I have slipped to a long run pace—10:45 mm at this point. That’s not going to get me a PR, so I try to pick up the pace, and realize my body simply can’t. The moment I move faster my left side starts screaming. Ok, my PR is not happening. I watched the 2:07 sign float past me and away in the distance. My legs are thrashed, my feet are blistered (from the dead shoes) and my female issues both make me want to rip out my stomach and cry. Decision time: do I call it quits, slog in or what? I should have wanted to do it for me, but I didn't. I totally didn't want to let down everyone who supported me during my pre-race freak out. I decide to aim for the best finish this body has in it, pain be damned. Hell, the marathoners still have a few hours on their feet, I can do another 66 minutes max. Less than halfway in, I am making myself run each step, sometimes painfully. Run to the next pole. Only .35 to the next mile marker, keep going. I do walk water stations, but that was in the original plan. I only broke down and waked once, shortly after mile 10, and that lasted only a few steps before I realized walking any more would end my race. A few bright spots did happen as I forced out the back half. These are small kindnesses that probably don't surprise the race vets, but still are important to note: - the lady at mile 7 who was feeding herself and anyone around her fresh oranges. I needed the one slice she gave me. The no breakfast thing (not paying Biltmore prices for a banana) was biting me in the ass in the heat. - All the awesome volunteers and crowds that kept me going mile to mile. I wish I could hi-five or thank each one. - the woman at mile 13 who kept me from walking by shouting, "anyone can do something for 10 minutes. Finish this!" - the nice Canadians who I ran with until the finish chute. One of the guys was in a kilt and we all talked about how the heat was killer. He was hoping for sub-2, and now we both were looking at 2:15 ish. It made me feel better to simply run with these people and chat, just like I was on a long run with a RAer or a run with my co-worker. - the wall of people at Rio Salada(?) cheering at the last .5 mile - I started tearing up on that turn when the finish was just ahead. - the gentleman sitting next to me in the med tent who helped cheer me up. - the people working the med tent who bandaged my hand and iced my knee - Shannon, who had to have been stalking me as she posted “Good Job” on Facebook only minutes after I finished, even with the disappointing time. - Most importantly, my domestic partner who sent an email with the subject, "HTFU". I didn't get it until after the race (he sent it after I did bag drop), but I did reply with two words, "I did." Here are some lovely Med Tent Shots: My bandaged hand: Here I am after the race, 2:16:24 official finish. My splits got worse with each mile after the fall, but I did it. Remember me mentioning I parked the car a long walk from the finish to avoid traffic? Limping back SUCKED. Good idea, bad execution. I really needed a bad race. I’m now thinking holding off on the Marathon until October instead of May- thoughts are welcome on the topic. I’m talking to my coach as well. I was terrified of the prospect of 26.2 anyway. I have total respect for the distance and worship everyone who has conquered it, and this fall/race just made me more worried about my own abilities. It’s a shame, as I had a terrific 15 miler last weekend. Now, some lessons. I did everything leading into this WRONG, and hopefully I learned something. The lessons: 1. Traning programs are there for a reason. When life interferes, change your goals. Cutting two easy runs and doing mostly speedwork is dumb. Easy miles matter, getting in speed workouts, less so. I’m back on the 5 days a week horse. 1a. Don't let the quest for PRs make you forget that running should be fun. After the fall, it would have been easy to get mad and be miserable. Instead, I settled into long run pace, stopped to chat with people, and focused on having fun. Even hot and pain, I made the experience fun, and that’s really why I run. Sorry to anyone I annoyed while thanking the cops, fans, volunteers, kids holding signs. Heck, if the sun wasn’t so mean, I would have thanked it. 2. When combining a business trip with a race, realize your focus is split on all ends and you can't maximize either. Half of bottle of Chateau St. Jean at dinner the night before won’t kill you, but don’t skip the first water stop either. 3. Train for the weather. Running in 20 degrees did nothing to prepare me for 70's with beating sun. God, I wish I lived in California or Phoenix—beautiful weather. 4. Bad races can be good. I have been struggling with motivation for the last 6 weeks (see log). I came out of this with a renewed need for 5 runs a week and the willingness to re-evaluate my goals. I’m completely focused now, am fixing my diet (the extra weight made a difference) and am ready to work hard for the next 10 months until MCM. 5. At the same time, I think the occasional month or so of backing off in training is mentally good, just don’t plan to PR out of that and have a big race on the back of that timeframe. My ITB problems had mostly resolved after my August, September and October of heavy mileage and my legs felt relatively fresh. Even today, I’m bruised, but otherwise still much healthier than after my last half. If you’ve read this far, I’m shocked. Give yourself a high five, go for a run, grab a coffee, eat chocolate or do something else to treat yourself. Thank you for reading! Chris

I like me some HTFU reports, way to keep moving your feet Chris. And you are absolutely right, "bad" runs really do help you to appreciate good ones. And it's only bad by comparison, since you still managed to enjoy it. Well done, congrats on a great effort!

Giirrrrllll!.... you go! Arla

Inspirational! Thanks for taking the time to type in the report and congratulations on your great attitude. John

Great report! Thanks for sharing it (and I only hope I show such character and HTFU-a-bility if I ever hit the pavement while hoping for a PR!).

Nice job working through those troubles. Everyone has races that don't go their way, and I think those are the ones that we learn the most from. Good luck on your marathon, whenever that may be.

Nice job, Chris, and great report! Glad to see you still enjoyed it, even in the face of your adversities.