Race Local: Dimity’s 2014 Race Calendar
How do you top an Ironmother? If you’re me, you don’t even try. No desire to go 140.6 miles anytime soon.
But that doesn’t mean that I’m leaving that badass feeling behind in 2013. No siree. If nothing else, Ironmother taught me how alive and grateful I feel when I dive deep into things that aren’t a gimme, when I’m not sure how much it’ll take to reach the finish line—or even if I’ll get there. Despite the thunderclouds under my eyes and a few injury speedbumps, I was secretly kind of thriving as I was striving. (And if that’s not the worst sentence ever written, it’s right up there.)
So how do you top Ironmother? If you’re me, you spend time trolling race sites and then get all theme-y. These are the two themes I settled on for 2014:
1. Races that intimidate me for one reason or another.
2. Local races because Sarah and I are on the road, on average, once a month this year. If I’m going to enter races that already have me quaking in my Sauconys, I want a home-bed advantage.
…drum roll…
Big Race #1: Ironman 70.3 Boulder. June 15.
Careful readers will know I am loath to race in Boulder, where intense doesn’t begin to describe the racing scene—or at least the scene as seen through Dimity lenses. It’s time for me to get over myself and just race my own race in the land of crazy endurance athletes. When I pulled out a strong 70.3 last spring, I was all amped, thinking maybe I could concentrate on speed this year and try to qualify for the National Championships. I realize this will not happen in Boulder—a certain number of age-group slots are allotted per race, and I believe in myself but come on: it’s Boulder!—but that doesn’t mean I can’t have my own PR.
That’s my goal: a solid 70.3 PR.
Not quite the Yellow Brick Road, but a close second. (From pikespeakmarathon.org)
Big Race #2: Pikes Peak Ascent, August 16.
Stats: 13.1 miles, about 7,800 feet of climbing. Did I mention I’m not the swiftest—or most enthusiastic—climber? Yep, intimidation: nice to see you around these oxygen-deprived parts. Even so, this race—and getting to the top of the Purple Mountain Majesty—has been swirling around my subconscious ever since we moved to Colorado. 2014 is the year. I attempted to climb the Peak once with some friends, but one came from sea-level and was slayed by the altitude, so we turned around about halfway up. I was contemplating doing the full marathon, but my husband gently reminded me running 13.1 miles downhill on my injury-prone back, legs, and feet probably isn’t the best idea.
My goal: to embrace the “Coloradoness” of this unique race—and to get in. Entries, I’ve heard, go quickly in mid-March, especially when I’m aiming for the easier for Wave 2, which requires a 2:25 half-marathon. (Wave 1 has a qualifying time of 1:40 for a half-marathon; bet there will be a lot of Boulder-ites in that one.)
Other items potentially on my list: a sprint or Olympic triathlon before the 70.3, but those are hard to come by, timing-wise, since the water is still pretty chilly around here in late May; and possibly the Triple Crown, a package of races that includes the Pikes Peak Ascent, the Garden of the Gods 10-Miler (another race that slightly intimidates me: crazy hills + the ghost of races past, when I was swifter) and a 15K trail race that is good prep for the Ascent. And I hope I get to pace a good pal in the Leadville 100 again.
I’m also in for Tinker Bell Half-Marathon and the Princess Half-Marathon, and possibly the inaugural Napa Valley ZOOMA Half-Marathon; Sarah and I will definitely be at the latter, but we haven’t played rock/paper/scissors to see who will run and who will woman the AMR booth.
Wow. A little weary right now from transferring that from my head to the universe. But I’ll be racing fewer miles this year than I did in one day last year, which is reassuring. I can’t promise that I’ve got this, but I can promise that I’m going to give it everything I’ve got.
Do you have your race calendar planned for this year? What’s on it?
The Most Important Mile of My Life: Kristin Neal
Family first: Kristin, holding onto both her daughters, Kristin’s parents, Katie, and Katie’s roommate, Beth.
I desperately searched the sidewalks for the big white sign that said Mile 25, only to discover it was nowhere to be seen. Discouraged, I trudged on. It was (the impossibly long) Mile 24 of my first marathon. I had lost the 3:35 pace group at a crowded water stop around Mile 8, and for the past 16 miles, it had been just me and my inner demons. My parents and sister were running the half-marathon, and my husband and kids were waiting for me at the finish. I was desperate to be done and reunited with them.
Holiday Half-Marathon Running Race Report
Spoiler alert: I finish the race with a smile on my face!
The last few years, I’ve been lamenting lost speed. (“Speed” being a relative term, mind you.) As each year vanishes from the calendar, minutes have compounded on my race times. I couldn’t believe I ever used to routinely finish at or below 1:50 for a half-marathon, and it seemed like sub-2:00 hours was becoming a slippery goal to grasp as well. Taking an honest look, I had to admit my times are now routinely 1:58 or 1:59. Fine times…just not what I’d been capable of three, four, or five years ago.
But thanks to numerous track workouts with my training partner, Molly, and core-strengthening barre-style classes at The Refinery, I decided I might have a glory-days-ish time in my (aging) body. So, at the urging of Molly and a few other friends, I jumped into the Foot Traffic Holiday Half, a popular Portland 13.1-mile race that was, oh, 4 days away from when I committed to running it. (Molly and I are both training for a January 19 half-marathon, so this impulsive decision wasn’t quite as foolhardy as it sounds.)
So, after an abbreviated taper and a trip to a unique local craft store for some holiday-themed adornments (including a 2-foot, flannel, patchwork Christmas tree quilt), I was eagerly bouncing at the starting line with about 2,000 other racers. Surrounded by runners in reindeer antlers; elf hats; Santa beards; candy-cane-striped socks; blinking lights; and penguin costumes, I am giddy.
The 75-cent flannel tree I sported on my back.
The gun sounds, and we are off. Fittingly, the first song on my playlist is titled YOUNGBLOOD. While the fluid flowing through my veins doesn’t quite qualify as young, I feel surprisingly peppy and nimble as I dodge red- and green-outfitted runners as we zig and zag through narrow side streets. By the time we connect with the main thoroughfare that most of the out-and-back race is to be run on, I settle into a surprisingly comfortable 8:35 pace.
Not wanting to put too fine a point on it, I set my time goal as, “closer to 1:50 than 1:55,” which translates to anywhere between 8:23 and 8:46 per mile. The misty chill makes for ideal running conditions for this Pacific Northwest gal, but I sense the quilted tree pinned to the back of my Saucony Sonic ViZi Vest might make me overheat so even before 2-mile marker, I toss my gloves at cheering-from-the-sidelines Molly.
The course wends its way north on a road I often trot; running along a familiar stretch of road lets me push my pace with confidence. A mile after Molly, I practice a trick honed in training that allows me to be more Zen without slacking off: Pretending my eyes are binoculars, I mentally twist them to narrow my field of vision. I’m still aware of my surroundings, but I’m less distracted by them.
The miles click by, my music, a Mile-4 Jet Blackberry GU, and orange Nuun fueling me just right. Never once do I think about letting my foot off the proverbial gas; not once do I second-guess my intentions or goal. I feel strong and at ease; I’m pushing the pace, but not to a place I immediately want to vacate. I’m exuberant.
After the turnaround, I jockey with a woman in a royal blue tee and another in a patterned skirt–the race has more than twice as many women running as men, and it’s a delight to be surrounded by so many strong women. As we hit the lone hill of the race under the St. John’s Bridge, I pass the two women I’d been trading leads with. Surging on a hill enhances the spring in my step. I gleefully high-5 Joanne, my kids’ beloved kindergarten teacher, as she’s heading out and I’m nearly Mile 8.
Couldn’t-be-cuter elves–then there’s me–in finish area.
When I slow to a walk to take in another GU and more Nuun at Mile 8, Bryan, the husband of a mother runner friend, makes me laugh as he yells out, “SBS, I’ve been following that dang Christmas tree on your back this whole time; didn’t realize it was you!”
Only occasionally glancing at my aqua-blue Soleus mini, I know my pace is staying pretty much where I want it. “Closer to 8:23 than 8:46,” I silently repeat. Just before Mile 11, approaching the aid station where my friend Sharon is working, I shout out to her to pass me a bottle of Nuun I’d left on her porch. Forever thoughtful, Sharon remembers to exclaim, “Go, Champy, Champy, GO!”
One more GU, the Nuun, and I mentally hunker down to push through Mile 11, knowing adrenaline–and a slight downhill–will carry me through the final mile. Needing a boost, I encourage a few women to hang with me, but I don’t get a taker until the final quarter-mile. Ultimately she sprints past me, but by then I’m busy whipping my arms in the air to get a cheer from the crowd. I’m in giddy-overdrive as stomp on the finish mats.
My official time ends up being 1:53:12–closer to 1:55 than 1:50. Yet I’m as jolly as the Santa and the elves I pose for pictures with. My mood stays elevated all afternoon (heck, ever since!), especially as I peruse my race stats on Athlinks.com. There, in the glow of the computer screen, I realize my Holiday Half finish is the fastest half I’ve run in almost 3.5 years. Ho, ho, ho!
All that running has made Santa more svelte–and more of a hipster.
The Most Important Mile of My Life: Alice Minnie White Barnett
Alice amid the wonders of nature, very much present in the mile she’s running.
I remember well the cold January afternoon my two closest friends met me at a local university. It was the beginning of a new year and we were meeting to run our first mile. None of us were runners, and we were still carrying around all the excess poundage we were determined to lose in the coming months.
Barely able to run for 30 seconds and spurred on by our desperate need of a bathroom, the situation was certainly comical, made worse by our own laughter. That was the first of many meetings, miles, and laughter together.
There have been other memorable miles: the first time I felt I could run outside without shame; the first time I ran in the rain, splashing and feeling like a kid again; the thrill of completing my first 5K; running miles in memory of my father; the triumphant final mile of my first 13.1 surrounded by the sound of cheering. There have been miles mingled with tears as well as laughter; silent miles filled with unspoken love and friendship; lonely miles; slow miles; speedier-than-I-thought miles.
The most important mile though, I believe, is the mile I’m running right now. It’s the only mile I can control. Yesterday’s miles are run; they’re history, just memories.
It’s the present that matters. If I give in now to the strong desire to quit or to slack off on this mile, then it will be easier to do so on some future mile. If I keep pushing hard and determine to finish this mile with strength, then I can move into the next mile with no regrets from the last. I’m thankful to my Creator, who has given me hundreds of miles thus far and strengthened me to run them, but I’m not guaranteed hundreds more. I only have this mile.