Word Perv

On Sunday I ran the Annapolis 10-Mile race. The morning was a bit humid and warmer than I’d hoped, but it’s August so I didn’t really expect cool weather. Of course we’d had cool mornings all week, so I had hoped we’d get lucky on Sunday, but no dice.

I drove there by myself. I should tell my readers that I threw myself a little pity party in my head while driving because here I was, once again going to race by myself. I’m used to it, and usually it doesn’t bother me, but sometimes it’s nice to know I’ve got someone waiting for me at the finish line. When I ran the Marine Corps Marathon last year one of the most amazing things was hearing Virginia and Matt scream my name at Mile 25 (just when I needed it!), and then having their arms to collapse into shortly after I finished. Since then, for the most part, I’ve run all my races without my own personal cheerleaders. Driving there, racing, then driving home, almost as if it didn’t happen. If it weren’t for the t-shirt and coveted medal I receive after races, I would have no proof I actually completed them. Back in March when I set a PR during the National Half-Marathon I had no one there to celebrate with me. So Sunday morning I was a little blue, knowing that once again I’d have no one waiting for me when I finished.

Once I got there I shook off my dark mood and began to prep for the race, warming up and stretching. At the start of the race I recognized a fellow hasher and said hello, wishing him luck. And with that, the race began.

The first five miles flew by, the hills doing nothing at all to slow me down (look like those hill intervals I’ve been running have paid off!). Just after Mile 6 I saw the beloved BN mark on the pavement and just ahead, a beer check was set up, manned by a few BAH3 folks (thank you!). I grabbed a cup, gave one of the members a quick hug and kiss, chugged my beer, and carried on.

Just past Mile 7 I got the dreaded chills, a sign my body is running low on its reserves. I grabbed a Gatorade and pushed on. Just past Mile 9 we crossed the Severn bridge once again and for the first time in this race, I felt the hill pull at me a bit, the muscles in my back pulsing. Pumping my arms hard I pushed my way up. It was on the downhill of the bridge that I spotted Todd. Todd is my ex-husband’s ex-wife’s second husband (ya get that? Sort of like a twice-removed in-law who is no longer). The competitive nature in me spiked and I surged forward again, determined to beat him. It turned out not to be him, but nonetheless it was the final push I needed to carry me through the finish line.

I passed underneath the sign, arms raised, with an official time of 1:23:22. Just after I finished I heard them announce my name which made me smile as I’ve never had my name announced. They said my last name wrong (of course), but it brought me great satisfaction. And even though I didn’t run as quickly as I had hoped, I still paced at an 8:39-minute mile, so overall I am pleased.

After the race I grabbed my finishers jacket which is, of course, too big (So Kirsten, you’ll be getting it in the mail soon!). Then I walked over the grab a celebratory beer and I met up with some of my fellow hashers who ran the race. We shared a couple of beers and swapped congratulatory words. Here I am after the race, beer in hand:

Overall it was a good race and as I said before, I am pleased. My next race is a month away and is an easy 5-Miler. Perhaps if I reduce the dining/going out/drinking/partying/socializing/having a good time and concentrate on my training, I’ll be able to pick up my pace. Or maybe I’ll just continue to have fun - both in my life and in my running. For if I’m not smiling and having fun, it’s not worth it, not in the least, no matter what my pace or finishing time may be.