New Bedford Half Marathon Race Report

I had a great half marathon yesterday. It didn't feel particularly good, don't get me wrong. At mile 10.5 I seriously wondered whether I would make it to the end, or just collapse in a heap and start crying like a baby. It fucking hurt. It hurt, and today my body feels like it was hit by a truck.

I drove down with Kim and Paul (who has no blog, much to the confusion of Kim and me, right Paul?). I don't get to see them much (except for Paul at the pool, occasionally) so this was a treat. The conversation was lively and funny, and helped to keep my mind off the race. I always seem to do better if I don't over-think my racing.

This is a big race in terms of size. There were about 2,000 runners and the field was extremely competitive because it is the USATF New England Club Half-Marathon Championship. I actually like it for this reason. It's fun to see the elite runners come out in droves all sporting their club jerseys. I also like to see how I stack up against them big dogs. (Or little dogs. Runners are usually quite slight, if you know what I mean.)

One bad part about a large, competitive race is that the start is slow. In your everyday race I push right to the front. However, at a race like this it is downright insulting to the elite runners if runners like me try to start on the line. Plus, if you do start with the people aiming to do five minute pace, you get absolutely trampled. Of course, if you start too far back you also pay. It took me at least 30 seconds to get to the starting line, and once there I had to really wait and dodge until I could break free about a 1/2 mile into the race.

I took it out too fast, mostly because of the panic caused by being stuck in the cluster of runners at the beginning. First mile: 6:44. ummm. oops! Remember that the first half of this mile was pretty slow--so what was I actually running? I looked down at my Garmin: actual pace-- 6:22. Okay, then! (Little internal voice starts screaming--) Alert! This is a half marathon, and you are running 25 seconds faster than 5K pace! Slow down! Alert! Slow Down!

So I slowed down. A little. I just felt so sleak and good and fast, though. I am no longer Mary, I am SUPER MARY! I began to think it was a crying shame I didn't have a jersey that said Iron Fucking Matron on the back. But then, as I cruised along, I pondered whether people would think I was a Matron who fucked? Or whether they would realize I was simply using fucking as an expletive to emphasize my I'm going to kick your assed-ness? Should it be Iron Matron: Fuck Yeah? or just Iron Matron? or Fuck! There's the Iron Matron! Then I imagined someone stopping me on the course and saying, Hey, I read your blog!

Looked back down at the Garmin: 6:21 pace.
Fuck! Fuck ! Alert! Slow down!

(you are gonna pay, sister. no one gets away with running faster than 5k pace at the start of a 1/2. No one you, dumb fuck.
How about Iron Matron: Dumb Fuck who Took it Out Like A Cheetah?
Race. Race. Focus on the race.)

I knew I would pay, but I just couldn't convince myself that it was the right thing to slow too much.

I am happy to say that for once in racing life, my gamble paid off.

Obviously I did slow down some. Mile 2.5 took care of that with a big, beautiful, long hill. Then I began to clip off between 7-7:05. I could hold this. It was good.

I remembered this course as being really hard. Two years ago I ran in it freezing temps and with a wind that nearly lifted me off my feet and heaved me into the ocean. I kept thinking that I would get knocked down by a big hill, or by gale force wind. But it didn't happen. I just kept running along. Gorgeous day. Nice pace. In pain, but manageable.

At about mile 6 I saw my teammate, Maureen. I focused on her back and just kept trucking toward her. I knew I was having a good race if I was up to Maureen. The little fear that I was going to blow up began to surface again. I forced myself to stop thinking and just run--even, steady. I was all good.

By mile 10.5 I suddenly felt it. I wasn't just tired. I was really fucking tired. You know what I mean--the type of tired that means your body is getting ready to shut down on you and in a few moments you'll be running 12 minute pace and wimpering.

I ate a Gel. Who cares if there were 2.5 miles left? I needed something! Then I just talked myself through it. You are still keeping pace. You are not dying. You are keeping pace. Just keep pace. Shut up. Just keep pace.

Mile 11.5 to 12.5 is a long, rather steep uphill. I slowed and momentarily lost faith, until I noticed that I was passing people. I am in better shape than you. I am in better shape than you. Just keep running.

I felt a rumble in my stomach. I felt some bile rising in my throat. That Strawberry PowerGel was going to make a reappearance...

Just keep running. You've puked before in a race. Who cares. You are headed for a PR, so shut up and do it.

Ahead I saw another GNRC t-shirt. I realized it was my teammate, Tom. If I was running close to Tom, I was having a really, really good race. I just stared at his back and tried to draw myself closer to him. Close to the top of the hill I passed him. Was I actually going to beat him? This could NOT be real.

The last 1/2 mile is a downhill, and thank God for that or that Strawbery PowerGel bile would have just kept rising until....
As I turned the bend and began heading down the final stretch, Tom passed me back. I think I called him a fucker.
Hopefully he's not mad. Are you mad, Tom? Sorry. I didn't mean it...

Well, maybe I meant it just a little...

And then it was over. 1:33:37. My Garmin read 7:02 pace, but they had me had 7:09 pace. My Garmin also read 13.35 miles. Weaving. Gets me every time.
But who cares! Wahoo! That's a 2 minute 40 second PR for me!

After the race Paul, Kim and I got lunch and beers.
As we were eating, a guy came up to and said, "Hey, you're Kim! And you're Mary!" It was a weird moment until he explained he was SoloBreak--fellow blogger. So cool! Recognized! We're like, famous! Okay, not famous. Still, though....
Thanks for saying hi, SoloBreak. Cool to meet you in the flesh!

The End.
Pics to come.