Notes
Embarrassing.
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7:58am 6.8.15
Some quick thoughts after the stinging of falling on my face yet again. I thought sub 20 was a certainty. It wasn’t about sub 20 it was about how far under sub 20 I would go, and then this. Honestly, I thought low 19 was possible which goes to show how far off I am in my own ability to predict a race result. Legs felt good after a day off and I really felt like I had a little pop during my run with Doug Friday which was encouraging. It wasn't that we were running fast but rather that it felt so easy at the end of our run. It seemed like a good sign. I didn’t sleep well Saturday night but that’s a given no matter the race distance. Good breakfast. No stomach issues. Weather was nice on the coast. I ran the course easy before the race and all was well. Lots of people at this race but not a lot of runners. Tons of kids from a local running club and they all line up in the front. Awesome. Team Hoyt had several runners with Wheelchairs and they go about 2 minutes before the rest of the field does. Once the gun goes off for us the pack thins quickly. The traffic is behind me and this is no big deal. I feel like I was a little slower out of the gate than I wanted so I pick it up a bit. Based on L Train’s comment I go back and look at my pace graph and cant believe I was running that fast at the end of Mile 1. When the first mile hits 6:25, I think, Right on Pace. I’m not in a good rhythm and never really comfortable. As we run the coast line and the road turns around that old brown hotel we hit the 1.55 mark and I’m right at 10 mins which means I am just slightly behind pace but close. I could feel my pace slip and can never improve the 6:36 pace by the end of 2. By the tennis courts and then up the slight hill I fade hard. Now my pace is over 7. Fuck. I struggle to get the pace under 7 and am getting close to Western Ave which is the last stretch of the race. I hit the straight away and can’t muster much. I finish. Get handed a bottle of water and just keep walking to the car. No silver lining. No excuses. I just sucked. I didn’t run smart. I didn’t fight. I just sort of went thru the motions. No race strategy. Nothing. I just thought I could show up and make it happen. What a douche. It’s pretty clear that I continue to give myself more credit than I deserve as a runner and continue to be a mental pussy which is troubling. I’ve never run this much, I’ve never had more quality runs, I’ve never been this weight. I’ve got to start doing some workouts that make me fight a little bit (like intervals). When I was doing them this winter I felt like I had built up a callous when things got harder. But that is gone. My dysfunctional relationship with this stupid fucking sport continues.