5K race today with the Expert: Run the Vineyard
at Chateau Elan
in Braselton. I wasn’t expecting much from myself. It’s been a tough couple of weeks.
Yesterday, the Expert asked me: “Are you going to run this race balls out?” I shrugged, “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll have to see.”
The race started and at the last second, I decided “yeah, why not” to the “balls out” question. I took off running hard right out of the gate. About a half mile in, I was regretting my choice, but figured I was already in it, so why not crawl completely into the hurt locker.
Then, zoooooom. There goes the Expert. I look down at Constance and I was flying at a 6.5 pace (which for me, is ridiculous kind of fast).
Here comes the first hill. And it was a doozy. Still, once I hit the one mile mark, I was pushing a sub ten minute mile pace. What??? Constance must have been wrong. (Constance is my Garmin).
I end up next to the Expert again. He gives me the hairy eyeball and rolls his eyes, which annoyed me. Then he mutters something which sounded distinctly like, “I hate you so much.”
Then he runs right past the first water station. Who runs past water in this heat, I’m thinking. I slow down, grab a cup, and fall behind him a little. Dude, what’s his problem?
At the turn-around, Constance tells me that I had been running for 14:28. Wait? What? 14:28? That was the out. All I have to do is back at the same pace. Which means a 29 minute 5K?? What?
Now, we all know that I am a super fast runner (ha ha ha). For example, my past 5ks times:
The Expert and I go back and forth during the run. I’m huffing it pretty hard. The out pace was not the back pace. I realized that I could attribute the speedy out pace to being mostly downhill. Well, I had the joy of meeting those hills on the way back.
About 200 yards to go, the Expert looks at me and runs past. Fine, I think, go ahead. He takes off for about 100 yards, and I hit a sprint coming up the last hill and catch up (ahhhhhh, a rotten hilltop finish).
He finishes at 32:17.
I finish at 32:19, and take home the third place slot in Female 30-34 (might have only been three people…not sure). Whoop!
The Expert is still glaring at me after the race. And I am pretty sure I heard him say, “I hate you” several more times on the course.
I’ve had enough. “What is your prob, man?”
“Were you even hurting out there?” he asked me.
“Uhhhhh, yeah,” I say, “Like death.”
“Really?” he looks stunned.
“Yes. I saw a bright light at the finish.”
“Oh.” His face seemed to relax a little.
“What is going on?” I ask.
He says, “I just thought this was a Zone 2 training run or something, because we had a swim afterwards. Then you take off, and I’m dying to keep up. And I was getting madder and madder.”
“Why were you mad?”
“Because I thought you were pulling that pace in a Zone 2 heartrate.”
I start laughing. First, because of the ridiculous of our competitiveness. Then because he thought I was breezily running.
Yes, he beat me by two seconds. Sigh. I think my days of winning our faux competition are on the way out. The Expert is gaining momentum!
I beat my best 5k pace by two minutes on a pretty difficult little course. The pace broke down to 10:25 minute mile. I. Will. Take. It. Yay.
Afterwards, the Expert and I put down 2700m swim, got him some new sneaks, and took the baby monkeys to lunch.
P.S. You know it’s time for new goggles when…. eeeek.