Notes
I agree with everything said here and no doubt in numerous other running logs across New York City. This was the most insane race I have ever seen in terms of organization.
It was so bad, it was comical. I lined up (appropriately) in the 7-minute corral. There were walkers in front of me and the guy behind me talking about how he couldn't run 3 miles, so he would run/walk the whole thing. Fortunately, I don't like to talk to people before races (either a focus or nerve thing), but I still had to resist asking him what he thought he was doing in the 7-minute corral then. Since I didn't know anyone at the race (a little unusual) I looked around for a green baseball cap characteristic of a certain LJer, figuring he's probably in my corral. I don't see him, not that I'd talk to him anyway - but apparently there's something enticing about pre-race voyeurism. Instead I start studying other people's bibs and notice that no one else's is marked with an estimated pace - meaning that NONE of these people has run a NYRR race before. I groan inwardly and consider moving up to the 6 minute corral, but I just can't do it, because it is Wrong.
The whole race was a clusterf*ck, which I pretty much knew signing up for it, but I was still optimistically shooting for a sub-24 minute race, especially considering the flatness of the course.
Fuel Report:
We drove back from Boston that day, so food was a bit strange. I had half a bean&veggie&tofu burrito for lunch, and some yogurt in the afternoon. I was starving when I got home at 5:00 and shoved some Gerber graduates in my face (not recommended). It was the only food I could find that didn't need preparation and that wasn't gel (gel would have been MUCH better, I just have trouble bringing myself to eat it willingly).
I mixed up about 8 oz of dilute Catapult ignoring the fact that 8 oz of fluid 10-30 minutes before a race is way too much for me. It always ends in tears.
Fashion Report:
I felt like looking good, so I threw on my running LBD and a cute pink visor (both are items that Skirt Sports sent me for free back during the marathon). Quick check in the mirror to confirm that I look hot. Awesome.
Race Report:
The race opens out and I spend the first two miles dodging walkers. It was so bad that I probably ran about an 8:20 - WAY behind the 8:05 pace I'd strategeried. I'm not sure, I'm too busy running people over to see the 1 mile sign. When the walkers get fussy at the runners I yell at them about reading signs or about starting in the back. I picked up time in the second mile when the walkers thinned out and I was mostly just behind very slow runners - must easier to dodge. I think I ran it in about 7:45, which puts me back on target for the finish.
And that's when the hell starts. I double over and start grunting because I am unable to breath. I assume it's all the fluids I drank before the race. Because I am an EMS dork I start checking my capillary refill to make sure I'm getting enough oxygen. I'd take my pulse, but my heart rate monitor is doing it for me. I'd take my blood pressure, but even I don't carry a cuff when I race. As my chest starts tightening, I briefly consider that I am might be having a heart attack - even so, I decide I am NOT STOPPING UNTIL I DIE because only over my dead body will I let the other runners in this race think that I am one of the 5,000 untrained a$$holes running this circus production. I cut back hard on pace - running inconsistently and barely managing over 8s. I am getting light-headed from the breathing difficulty. I try to suck up the pain. My heart rate drops back to only about 85% - too slow for the final mile of this race.
I finish with an official PR (pace-wise for a 5K - since there's really no such event as a 3M), but not happily - I know I should have done better. Angry, I actually eat the vegetarian (apparently synonymous with protein-free) free Subway sub. I NEVER eat Subway. I eat it only because I am angry. Subway sucks - their bread is mushy, their food is bland and they wouldn't know a vegetable if it walked into their restaurant and ordered a beef sandwich. But then neither would most Americans. (Note to self: Must stop projecting anger onto the rest of America and onto my own food intake.)
This morning when I woke up I poked myself in the chest where the cramp was and it was painful to the touch. It turns out it wasn't a cramp and just this weird fascia knotting that I get. I could have fixed the thing with a little chest message, some careful breathing and finished the race much stronger. I am a moron - I should have known what it was, since this used to happen to me all the time.