Now...about that race

It has taken me two weeks to write this post for a few reasons. The first reason is because every time I think about the dreaded race that I ran 2 weeks ago - I start to get mad. The second reason is because every time I try to formulate my thoughts, I get mad. So, yeah. I am mad, and mad. But, I am getting ahead of myself.

Two weeks ago, I ran my 12th half marathon. I knew going into it that the race was "hilly."  But, I didn't really seem to care about this, because I still registered for it. And I honestly thought that it couldn't be that bad. I mean - I run hills. My running routes consist of hills because I live in Rensselaer County. And let's face it - it's rather hilly around these parts.

I was pretty well trained. I had run one twelve miler, and two 10 milers before the race. Not to mention, I had run countless 8 and 9 milers.  I had cross trained. I had done some hill repeats. I was ready...or so I thought.

The race was in Rhinebeck, which is a cute little town about 1 hour away from me. I ran the race with 3 other running friends. The weather that day was rather warm for mid-October. Fortunately it was cloudy - so that helped.  I should also mention that my hamstring/glute has been bothering me for a couple months.

Anyway - the race started, and by mile 2 - I  knew this was not going to be my finest race. My hamstring was flaring up, and I felt kind of draggy. I fell back and tried to take it easy on the hills. The first 4 miles were somewhat hilly - but they weren't too terrible. And, then suddenly it got bad. Like really bad.

Around mile 6, I started to see the fast runners coming back. (The course was out and back, which is always a mental game. It really screws with me to see runners coming back the other way). Anyway, at mile 6, I also started going downhill. Down, down, and down. And this went on for a mile and a half. But, I couldn't even enjoy the downhill because I knew I was going to have to come back up. And, at that point, I started to throw in the towel.  When I finally got to mile 7.5, I hit the turn-around and I was so annoyed at that point, that I was having bad thoughts.

Thoughts like:
"Who is crazy enough to run 13.1 miles?"
"I am hanging up my running shoes after this race."
"If I find an official, I am going to DNF" (This means "did not finish.")
"How is the guy that is running barefoot smoking my butt?" (There seriously was a guy running barefoot, and he was one of the top 5 finishers).
"I can't believe I have to get back up this steep hill."

Somehow, I carried on, and cursed the hill. I finally reached mile 9, and after mile 9 .5 - the course flattened out. But, by then it was too late. The damage was done. My confidence was shattered, my hamstring was screaming at me, and I just felt discouraged.

I did finish the race - but that was because when I finally found a race official - it was at mile 10. At that point, I figured what would be the point of quitting with only 3 miles to go. I think it was my slowest half ever and I finished in just under 2:20. (Just for a comparison - I normally finish around 2:05).  Ugh, and Ugh. Such a disappointment.

But, that race was HARD. Hard, and hilly. Basically, it sucked. I would never do it again. When I was done, I felt like I had run a full marathon, instead of a half. And I felt like I had never trained. My body felt beat up. Luckily, I wasn't the only one who felt this way. Felice and I were still cursing the race the other day.

On the positive side - clearly my plans to retire from running, were short lived. Because on the way home, we were already planning the Seneca 7 and the Stockadeathon. So, clearly, I guess it's not time for me to hang up my running shoes just yet. Let's hope I still have a few years left in me! I guess the hard races make me tougher in the long run.