Race Report: Santa Rosa Half Marathon

Let's go ahead and just get one thing out of the way... My goal for this race was to run around 1:50. Spoiler alert: I failed. But, my other goal was just to honest-to-god race the shit out of those 13.1 miles. And, I'm happy to report, I did accomplish that.

For whatever reason (probably because I was fucking wasted the night before), I was kind of a mess on Sunday morning. I got up and felt fine and got dressed and ready, but I hadn't laid anything out the night before, I hadn't pinned on my bib or put my tag on my shoe. Normally, these are all things I do the night before a race. All I did the night before this race was drink a beer in bed and pass out.

Regardless, I somehow managed to get out of the hotel room and into the car with my bib, shoe tag and the right clothes on. Win! About 3 minutes into the drive I realized... awwww fuck! I forgot my watch! Fail! KoB offered to turn around so I could go get it, but I didn't want to be late to meet our friends. "I'll be fine without my watch," I said casually to KoB. He said something like "oh sure." But his face was saying... "bitch, you are fucked."

Now, for some background, KoB was going to pace our friend Jeff who wanted to run a 3:15 marathon. Was it any coincidence that they're room number for the weekend was 315?!?!?! Whoa. Anyway, we met up with them and headed to the start line.

It was overcast and 51 degrees at the start. PERFECT weather. Melissa and I ran a little warm up lap and I lined up in the corral with about 3 minutes before the start. Realizing that running without a watch didn't turn out too well for me the last time I tried it (OMFG the 10k where I ran a 7:19 first mile. Holy hell). I decided to line up between the 3:45 and 3:50 marathon pace groups. I knew that the 3:45 pace for a marathon was similar to what I needed to run for a 1:50 half.

This race felt like the LONGEST race in history. When I saw the first mile marker, I was sure that it was the 2nd mile marker and that I had missed the 1st one. WRONG. Only 1 mile down and it felt like the second mile of a 5k. I wasn't running too fast, the 3:45 pace group was well in front of me, but I was racing.

I started picking people in front of me and trying to either pass them or keep up with them. I kept telling myself over and over again that I was racing and that it was supposed to feel like this. My legs felt pretty good and the pace felt like what a half marathon effort should be.

See how cute the Run Bitches look? Ugh. Fucking Bitches.

The Sonsabitches in the orange singlet and the white singlet behind the orange.

So, while the sonsabitches and bitches are looking good and racing their own races... I'm in the battle of my life at mile 6ish of the race. Not just any battle, mind you... but a battle against a MIDGET. I saw her ahead of me and I was like... is that a bitch a midget? And as I got closer, I was like... hell yeah she's a midget! And obviously, I can't let a midget beat me. So I picked it up to get around her and as soon as I passed her, she sped up to keep up with me.

 

The bridge and the camera angle are playing tricks.

This bitch was SHORT.

And of course, that's when I saw the goddamn photographer. Taking a picture of me running side by side with a dwarf. I was like, "okay dwarf bitch.. you wanna race this shit? Let's race." So, I picked it up and smoked her ass. And then I was like... goddamn, I just raced a fucking a midget in the middle of a half marathon. This is probably not going to end well for me. But, I am proud to say... that dwarf got schooled (nevermind the fact that I'm a regular size bitch and should have had no problems passing her. ugh).

The rest of the race was pretty much a blur of a shitfest. Racing is hard, y'all. Ugh. 

Okay, so I look half-way okay here. Blurry background shots suit me.

All aboard the hurt train. Absolutely dying.

Since I wasn't wearing a watch, I wasn't really sure where I was time-wise. But I had been eavesdropping on people and kept hearing that I was running with people who were in the 8:40 range, occasionally an 8:30 or a 9:00. So, I felt like I was doing okay-ish. But, I was DYING the last mile of the race.

This pretty much sums up the whole race for me.

When I saw the clock at the finish I was pretty fucking bummed. 1:54:40. (Exactly 10 minutes slower than my Half PR). But, luckily, I didn't have to think about it too long, because at the finish line were the Run Bitches and I found out that Cheryl had PRed! Woo!

After the race, Melissa and I ran back to the hotel to put some warmer clothes on and then headed back to the finish line to await the arrival of the sonsabitches. (And to also stand in line for 45 minutes for pancakes. ridiculous).

We got to the finish line around the 3:10 finishing time and anxiously watched the runners come in. Around 3:14 we saw them.

 

 RUN!!!! That's KoB, and you don't even want to know what he

was yelling at Jeff at this point. I'm pretty sure that lady in the pink on the left

passed out after he passed by her with his dirty encouraging words.

 Fast.

 They ended up with a chip time of 3:14:35!!!!!!!

Awesomeness.

Then it was time for some wine and beer...

A great trip with great friends.

We're missing Melissa in this photo.

She offered to take the picture, sneaky bitch.

Overall, the trip was a huge success. KoB helped Jeff get his PR and sub 3:15, Cheryl got a PR, Coach ended up getting on the podium with a 2nd place AG finish, and I schooled a dwarf didn't accomplish jackshit. But, hey... it was fun.

The End.

P.S. This race is a good example of a PR course. Flat, great weather (it was 53 degrees when I finished), and boring as shit. Seriously, I hated this course, but it would have been perfect to set a PR at. Also, the beer/wine tent opened really late, the pancake line was ridiculously long, and there wasn't gatorade or coffee (that was free) at the finish line (only fruit and water bottles). But, the shirts are nice and there were a good amount of porta potties at the start line (not many of them on the course, though).

Race Report: Memorial Day Dash 5k

A Race Report in Three Acts.

Act 1: The Setup.

Set yourself on fire-
Seek those who fan your flames.
-Rumi

I am a total pansy. When the going gets tough, instead of getting tougher, I usually throw my hands up in the air and make up some excuse or whine and bitch and give up. It sucks. I really want to be one of those runners who lays the hammer down and then when it feels impossible to keep going at that intensity, they burn through the pain and keep going. I WANT TO BE LIKE THAT. And truthfully, I think my body is definitely capable of it. But my mind, my mind is one lazy, fucked up sonofabitch.

So, in an effort to "toughen" up my mind, I want to race more. I want to push myself more to prove to my brain, that yeah, you lazy piece of shit, you can keep going and you won't die (hopefully).

I picked out this 5k a few weeks ago and realized that my runner partner/pacer Steve was unavailable to pace me on race day. Now, most normal people would just take their self-motivated bad asses to the start line and race on their own. Yeah, not me. When I found out Steve was unavailable I immediately asked my super fast bad ass runner boyfriend* if he would kindly slum it for me pace-wise and pace me for the 5k. Admittedly, I felt kinda bad. I mean, I kinda hated to have him pay the money for the race to leisurely jog around for 3.1 miles with me while I raced my heart out. But, obviously not bad enough to keep me from asking. He easily agreed.

 Act 2: The Race.

It became pretty clear on Monday morning that conditions weren't exactly PR friendly. The course is pretty whacked and has one good hill and a few other hills and it was about a bazillion degrees outside. Despite that, I came to race. No matter what, I was going to run as hard as I could. And, I realized with about one minute till the gun went off, even if I wanted to back off, I couldn't. Not with my boyfriend pacing me. I might be a total pansy, but I certainly don't want to look like one in front of him. This meant one thing... I was fucked.

Public Service Announcement: Don't run with your eyes closed.

Not because it's dangerous, but because you look like a

jackass in the race photos. 

And holy motherfucking shitballs was I fucked. I was racing my ass off and it felt awful. A mile into the race I really thought I was going to throw up and was contemplating whether to stop to let myself yak or to just try to do it while still running.

I became that exact person in races that I absolutely detest. That disgusting runner who is breathing heavy/sighing/grunting/moaning/throwing dagger eyes at the little kid who kept sprinting past and then stopping in front of me. I was a complete and utter trainwreck out there.

 This is the face of death.

Running next to the face of EASY PEASY.
(Around mile 1.5ish)

KoB was great though. He kept telling me I could do this and that I was doing this (by "this" I assumed he meant DYING, cause that's what "this" felt like). I couldn't even respond. I think I told him once that I was going to throw up, and I'm sure I grumbled about feeling like death (to which he would respond: Good!). But mostly I was just grunting and moaning and gasping for life.

One of the best things he told me was that I was okay and that it was supposed to feel like this. I needed to hear that. I needed to hear that it wasn't supposed to feel like kittens and ice cream. It was a good reminder that I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing. (Even though it felt like shit). And it kept me honest.

I had no idea what my time was going to be. I didn't think I was running fast enough for a PR, but it sure felt like hell, so I thought that maybe I was.

Act 3: The Finish.

Turns out my finish time was no where near a PR. But you know what? I didn't even care. I ran as hard as I could and I never quit. Sure, my splits got slower (I was dying) but I never consciously slowed down. I kept fighting (and grunting) till the very end. And for me, that is a HUGE success and something to be very proud of!

Epilogue:

While I never looked like a total pansy by backing off in front of KoB, I'm still pretty sure I embarrassed the hell out of myself with my utterly unattractive grunting and obnoxiously heavy breathing. Oh well.

Thanks KoB! You helped me kick the shit out of my lazy ass mind.

The End.

*I know there should be some commas in there somewhere, but I give up**.
** See how goddamn lazy my mind is? Jesus.