ten miles is the perfect distance race. it's short enough to sprint, and it's long enough where anything can happen. let's face it- a marathon is only an exciting competition for an elite runner, and a half marathon... is exactly one half of a race. if Pheidippides only ran HALF a marathon, he would have expired a nameless failure somewhere between Marathon and Athens, and his message would have been lost entirely. we'd have some other arbitrary long-distance extravaganza certainly with a different title. and i'm sure a glorified event boasting exactly half that distance as well. so there you have it.
i digress. so ten miles is (in my not so very humble opinion) a glorious way to run a long distance very quickly. typically, i train during the late winter and early spring on a similar ten mile course in Newport and PA. i was not afforded the luxury of 29*F weather, frigid headwinds, and ice on the ground this winter, and sadly had to train in warmer weather- where my biggest obstacles were hermit crabs, and very dead decomposing goat carcasses. the hills at first were my friends, but mid april i discovered i had a mystery injury on my hands that made running even a few steps completely impossible. a stress fracture? sciatica? tendonitis? muscle tear? there were no available resources in the caribbean to diagnose my itis, so i swallowed some NSAIDs and hit the gym and pilates mat as hard as i could. I ran a half marathon Wednesday, April third. i was not in a large amount of pain, however things were never quite the same after that run.
I joined form fitness in st barth and decided to no longer continue running down hills at all. i had been strong, and able to do this in the beginning of the winter- but repeated pounding was aggravating my lower leg region in my right leg although my knees were fine and happy. stressful as it was, i kept to the elliptical machine, stationary bike, and rowing machine to get my daily cardio in, and some weeks would go three, four, five days even without running. and when i did run, i limped along at three miles at a go. it was a sad time.
I guess i should talk about Antigua. It was good to be back home at the Dockyard. Strange not doing my daily runs up to Shirley Heights and back down again. Strange not to wait for that call from Jared on the VHF. morning after morning. but all was well, and everyone was super excited for Classics. Joey was with us, Adrian, and friends from other boats to play boules with us every night, and cook steaks on the dock. I have a membership to the yacht club gym, so i purchased a load of national geographics and runners worlds so i could cycle 2 hours per day and work the rower. the regatta came and went because we had two separate rigging issues- the first one, Ayds sprung to our rescue and remedied almost immediately. and for that, i am forever grateful. sadly, the third day left us out, so i hopped into Cory and Roddy's helicopter and zoomed around with a huge grin on my face. our lack of racing translated into more time spent in the gym, getting strong for this race that at the time, i had no idea if i would even finish.
meanwhile, we're getting the boat ready to ship north, so it helped to just focus on work, and not fret so much about the stress of the race itself. luckily, Junebug was there with us and we did a lot of therapeutic swimming every day as well. the sunday before the race in tortola, i downed a few aleeve and managed to make a very slow 8 miles on evening so i said i'd be happy if i just finished the race at all, and vowed to do better next year- and not touch any anti inflammatorys in the meantime because i swear they're killing what's left of my liver.
i took it easy on the plane ride, and showed up at the expo on saturday to make an obligatory appearance. i announced that i have no idea what is going to happen in this race. you can only train the best you can, and any given sunday, anything can happen after that gun goes off and your toe shoots past the line. then i ran a celebratory lap with my dad and brother at FDR to loosen things up. it felt surprisingly good.
sunday morning came. inevitably. rode subway north, used restrooms at the church, did my pre-race rituals. got in my gate. gun went off. ambled over the start, and cautiously trotted south down broad street amidst a crowd of 40,000. mile three came, and when i noticed my 22 minute time, my goal of "just finishing" the race switched to "i'm not going to drop above an 8 minute mile! no way sir!" my dignity completely at stake, i pushed through the finish line only one second shy of a personal best. ONE SECOND?! are you KIDDING ME?! needless to say, i am positively seething right now, for had i not ambled over the starting line, and hit the mat at full stride (you know, the same pace at which i ran from the subway station to the restrooms at the church when i had to pee very badly!) i most likely would have OFFICIALLY PRed. ::shakes head:: only me. last year i didn't eat before the race. this year, i was injured. one of these years i'm destined to get it right. Hello, 2014.
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