Race Report: RunVermont First Run (aka why I hate the 5K)

5Ks bring a special kind of pain. Unlike the marathon, which feels easy until about mile 20, the 5K hurts at the start, in the middle and at the end. Badly. As a result, I am happy to announce that I survived the First Run 5K with only a little vomit (not my own), fleeting discomfort and a hissy fit that only lasted through my cool-down.

We had bizarre weather this weekend. New Year's typically finds us firmly below zero, but highs on Saturday were close to 50, beautiful weather for a race.  At the start, many of us remarked that we weren't even slightly cold in tee shirts and shorts. Those in costume were almost definitely overheated. (My personal awards?  The two-women bobsled teams, the Gingerbread Man and Spiderman, whom I suspect ran the entire race in character).

I am a terrible short distance runner, so didn't have great expectations, especially coming off a stomach bug and fueled primarily by cookies and brie.  I resigned myself to the simple goals of survival and a smart race and went 1 for 2.

I started way too fast, ticking off the first mile somewhere around 6:10, totally inappropriate for my current fitness. Per usual, I got distracted during the second mile and my pace dropped precipitously. Even other ponytails passing me failed to kick me into gear. I hit the second mile around 13:20. I did manage to collect myself in the third mile, finishing in 20:03.  My prize for finishing?  Vomit down the back of my legs, courtesy of the runner behind me, second worst chute experience ever.

Lessons learned?  Don't get pulled along in a hard start. Work more on turnover. Run more 5Ks so they hurt less and you finally figure out how to pace. Brie and cookies are not great running fuel.

Congrats to all 600 some runners who kicked off the New Year in style.

Run On
~S

Gearing Up

It's been a bizarre weather week.  Unseasonable temperatures and serious winds have made for interesting training scenarios.  Every time we face inclement weather and I yearn to stay in bed or run indoors, I remind myself that anything could happen weather-wise (or otherwise) in Boston, and I'd better be ready. Yesterday, I fought wind on a basic six miler.  Today, I had track work in some serious humidity.  I was overdressed heading out the door and was a sweaty mess by the time I reached the track.

Thankfully, the workout looming ahead distracted me from the hair plastered to my face. I haven't officially done speed since February and to describe myself as anxious would be a gross understatement.  I dutifully did my warm-up, followed by some stride drills, then set into an "easy" workout of 400s. In February, Lee and I did 20 400s on the indoor track.  I wouldn't say the workout was easy, but we survived and felt pretty tough. Today, I was aiming for 4 at a 1:40 pace, about the equivalent of my half marathon pace pre-surgery (PS). After this workout, I refuse to believe that I ever maintained that pace for 13 miles.

Being honest, the workout went fine.  I huffed and puffed and survived.  My legs felt fine, I didn't have a lot of stabbing pain around the incision and I went on to do a few more laps of less structured speed play. As much of a doubting Thomas as I can be, there was a teeny tiny part of myself that thought I might have an effortless workout and be able to say, "Aha, I really didn't lose that much conditioning!" But I did.  So now starts the hard work of rebuilding.