This is the story of how I voluntarily got my picture taken at the end of a race with a goofy ass grin plastered on my face.
1 minute earlier I was puking at the finish line.
30 seconds earlier I was frantically scrolling through my watch...
I FUCKING PRed!!!!!!!
YES, I realize that not 6 months ago I was boohooing all over the interwebz about how I'll never just randomly PR a race, etc. Obviously, I was just full of shit and excuses. Because, apparently, I can just pull a PR out of my ass*.
Ok, let's back up.
So, the KoB and I were in Tucson last weekend and of course there was a Marathon and Half Marathon the same weekend. Whenever the KoB travels... there's always a marathon. TRUST. He ran the full
(fuckingshowoff) and I ran the half.
My plan was to run the race as a tempo run. The idea of running 13.1 miles anywhere in the vicinity of 8:00 miles was ludicrous. LUDICROUS. Particularly with no taper and no speedwork near the 8:00 mile mark. I know it sounds like a bunch of bullshit, but I had no thoughts of a PR. I wasn't even entertaining the idea of running a sub 1:50.
The race is a point-to-point. Which meant that we had to get up at the ass crack o' dawn (3:15am!!!!!!) to get bussed to the start line and then sit there and wait for 2 hours. Awesome. It was also like 35 degrees. I dropped The KoB off at his bus stop and then I continued to mine. For the next two hours I huddled under a heater with a bunch of other runners and tried to avoid any lengthy conversations (chatty runner pre-race talk makes me nervous. Also, I'm a bitch.). It was dark and cold and I had decided that I wasn't even going to worry about the tempo miles till the last half of the race. I just wasn't feeling it. Cold Amy=Cranky Unmotivated Amy.
By the time the race started, my legs were FROZEN.
Nice of them to take my picture next to the cow crossing sign.
WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY MARATHONFOTO?????
Which meant, I ran a little faster than I had figured I would.
But, not that fast.
It was around this time, though, that I noticed that I wasn't breathing hard AT ALL. Hmm... that's weird, I thought.
I felt amazingly good and the pace I was running felt CRAZY easy. So, I thought... well, maybe I can pick it up a little. And when I got to mile 7, I decided that for the rest of the race, my goal was to run a 7:XX split.
Make way for the RUN BITCH, you sonsabitches.
And then, after 7 glorious miles of easyness... it started to get a little harder. Around mile 8 I felt my breath start to get labored. But, I didn't let myself freak out. It was supposed to be a tempo pace run, so I'm supposed to be a little out of breath.
I have no fucking idea where this shit came from.
Around mile 10, I did the math in my head and I realized that I MIGHT have a chance to PR and I was like.... HOLYFUCKINGSHITBALLS!
Come on ride the train, and ride it...
Come on ride the train, and ride it...
It's a choo choo train.
(WTF else could I be doing)?
All I could think about was splits and math and OH MY GOD, I HAVE TO KEEP RUNNING FAST. I MIGHT PR!
And then, we hit like the one fucking hill on the whole course. And to be honest, it wasn't even really a hill. But, good lord, it felt like Mt. Everest.
Doesn't even show up on the elevation profile. Bitch.
Slowed me down a bit, though. Bitch.
At this point, I was in full Racing Amy Form. The heavy breathing and panting. The grunting like I'm going to die. The throat clearing. The whole bit.
Fact: my pointy elbows are my skinniest body part.
Somehow though, I managed to run my fastest mile of the day.
And school one last bitch.
When I crossed the finish line, I immediately threw up. No dry heaves this time. REAL throw up. Gross. Luckily, it was just a couple of heaves and I was done and I immediately started messing with my watch. It just said 1:44 on it. I had to go in and figure out the seconds. (As you can see above it said 1:44:08).
AND I REALIZED THAT I HAD PRed! (Turns out, I actually had a chip time of 1:44:04). A PR of 36 seconds. BOOM BITCHES!
Unfuckingbelievable. There is no way I thought I would be able to run that fast and to run that much of a negative split! It was just the perfect day (and of course I immediately started thinking... well, what if I had ran faster for the first 4 miles???!?!?!?!?).
And when The KoB finished, I could BARELY CONTAIN MY EXCITEMENT. YAY! SOMEONE TO TALK TO ABOUT MY PR! BUT, he stood around in the finishers chute with some friends and I patiently waited outside the chute until I couldn't take it any more and crashed the party. I tried not to look like a total freak and be totally chill about my PR, etc. I was waiting to get the KoB alone to make a huge dramatic announcement about how my "tempo run" turned into a PR. But, they were all chatting and I as much as I wanted to just yank him away, I stood there politely and got introduced and asked them how they did. Small talk, small talk, dying, dying... But, then one of them asked me... how'd you do?
I FUCKING PRed!!!!!!!!!!!
And the KoB gave me a look like... What the hell, bitch? Why did you wait 5 minutes to say anything? (Actually, I think he said exactly that).
Not to worry, KoB, you'll hear about it PLENTY.
And that's the story of how I pulled a PR out of my ass and let a photographer take my pic with a goofy ass grin.
Epilogue: Uhhh... Tucson Full Marathon... there's a good chance you'll see me next year.
*To be fair, I HAVE been training hard for the past 13 weeks. So, it's not like the PR was totally pulled out of my ass... Still... was a total shock to me.