Going into the run I had my heart set on doing the best I could do. And I sure did go for it. As much as I love running with my friends, I quickly abandoned them in order to just focus on doing the best I could do. I've done two runs since last fall in which I averaged a 12- and 11-minute mile. I decided that I wanted to improve on those runs and get back to the under 10-minute paces I had back in 2002-2004.
It really felt great. Even though there were several ups & downs with the hills along the course, I was able to maintain a doable pace. At the end of the first mile, I was right under ten minutes. Each mile after that, my pace was actually improving. Once I reached the 6-minute mile, I had been running 57 minutes and knew I could finish the last mile in less than 10 minutes - far under my goal of 70 minutes.
So there I was. Go Rodney go! Just a little more to go. I was in the general vicinity of the finish line and knew I wouldn't take much longer. But after awhile, the course kept wrapping around and around this one area. What the heck? Where was the end? Why were they putting us through this maze? Oh no! My timer showed 67 minutes and I was starting to get worried. Every time I thought I was near the end, ready for a sprint, it wasn't really the end. Adrenalin was pumping through me but I held it back. And by trying to pull back, I started to feel queasy. My stomach. Oh, no. I felt like I needed to throw-up.
Oh gawd. It was getting really bad at one point. I started to mildly dry heave. Oh dear lord - don't make me puke. Okay, a little slower. I'll be okay. Alright, I'm okay.
And there it was. I could see it. The finish line! I was getting super close but... oh crap! No, no, no! The nauseousness was back. But I couldn't stop my legs. I just kept moving and I couldn't hold back the need to puke. I kept praying I wouldn't lose it in front of everyone. It was close but I thankfully didn't hurl. But that didn't mean I didn't look the fool. I was dry heaving over & over & over again. I covered my mouth hoping people wouldn't see. But I know they saw me. So embarrassing! But at least I didn't puke. That would have been horrible.
So, aside from that, I had a great run. Sadly, I finished the race in 1:11:32. A minute and a half longer than my goal of 70 minutes. But the awesomest news is that 12 kilometers much more than 7 miles. It's friggin 7.45 miles. That means I finished with a 9:35 pace per mile. My real goal was staying under a 10-minute pace and I done it.
Here's a pic of us runners:
I'm on the far left next to my pals Roman & Karen. Then there's Leah who ran the 12K with us. Her husband, Fernando, is squatting with their dog Owen. Kat's between the two of 'em. And the folks on the far right are their friends who I just met today.
Next up, is Beat the Bridge in May. It's an 8K. Last time I ran this race in 2003, I lost to the bridge. That's certainly not happening this year.
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