We jogged away from our hotel, five of us, loping along the
sidewalk awkwardly. The sky began to lighten behind us as we broke ranks to
flow around other groups of runners headed for the start. Goose bumps rose on
my bare arms, but the morning was distinctly warmish. Dan looked down at his watch,
“We just hit nine minute pace,” he said, through a smile. Someone called, “Let’s
pull it back,” and a laugh traveled through our band of PR-hopefuls.
Not 24 hours ago, I had just met this group of Colorado
runners, spearheaded by my friend Dan, as we converged on Phoenix for the Rock ‘n
Roll Arizona Half Marathon. We shared a light three mile shakeout run the day
before and found the conversation as easy as the pace. I got to know my new weekend
comrades as we spoke to one another in the common language of runners, swapping
training philosophies, workouts, nutrition secrets, and race tactics.
Runners dressed in various shades of the neon color spectrum
emptied into Tempe’s main drag around us. The pace quickened as the start line
came into view and drops of adrenaline escaped into our systems. Each man broke
off to complete the final touches of their warmups.
We reconvened in the starting corral and exchanged fist
bumps, handshakes, and “good lucks.” I replayed our drive along the course
through the dark the night before and tried to mentally prepare. I zeroed in on the
long hill at mile 10, its drop on the backside, and 180 degree turn back up the
way we came. But, it was at least an hour away. I kept my race plans vague,
saying only that I hoped to PR (1:19:29 at the time), and would let the race
unfold. I signed up merely to join my friends for a warm weekend race in
January, knowing that my ultimate goal still lay some weeks away in Boston.
At the gun, I burst forward feeling the morning chill
burning off. I followed C.J. who hoped to run 1:17 on the day, and found myself
quickly on his shoulder. The pace felt good and I let myself consider holding
with him for the race – a hard commitment to make with 13 miles still to cover.
C.J. looked down at his wrist and hit the brakes, prompting me to look at my
watch: 5:25. Shit. I pulled back on the reigns and came through mile 1 in 5:52.
C.J. began to gap me and I resigned to fall back and find a comfortable gear
between 6:00 and 6:10 and run like a metronome through at least half way. The
course’s long straightaways helped support this plan.
Nearing mile 2, I felt footsteps at my back and expected the
runner to go by before realizing that he was content to sit on my shoulder. He
was clearly in distress and I wondered if he knew we still had 11 miles to go.
I maintained my pace, letting the run come to me, and felt the flow beneath my
feet. Eventually, the heavy breather fell off the back and I ran alone once
again.
The pace yo-yoed between 6:10 and 6:04 before finally
settling in at 6:02. When I came through 10K, I had two runners alongside me,
whom I thought about staying with and realized that I simply needed to run my
own race. It could have been the dryness, the travel the day before, or simply
mileage catching up to me, but I was suddenly aware of the effort and wanted to push no
harder.
At mile 7, the course turned right and I peered up ahead at the
long, straight incline. The road tilted upward just enough to let you know you
were climbing and I began to grind. My thoughts turned solely to reaching mile 10
rather than moving forward with the pace. What
happened to the fast, flat course? I thought. I alternated between reading the signs of the chain restaurants crammed into each strip mall and looking ahead toward the runners in front of me, willing them to make a turn to signal the end of this stretch. I recalled my previous half marathon PR race in Providence and how this same 5K (miles 7-10) would make the difference between perseverance (and a PR) and settling. I closed my eyes for a moment, listened to the steady rhythm of my feet on the road, the flow of my breath, and the sun on my face. I reopened, reset, and marshaled on.
When I turned off the incline, I recognized the buildings
from our drive the night before and knew that the elevation spike I dreaded at the start was not
far off, and quickly questioned the mile markings since I’d be hitting it
nearly a mile earlier than anticipated. Still, I felt my legs turnover faster
and the breeze of a second wind coming up behind me. I came upon the two runners
who had gone by before, smiled at the black-clad Lulu Lemon gang that faux-flashed
me, and gave a thumbs up to the football team running sprints up the hill with
us.
I made that turn to start climbing when I saw C.J. flying
down the hill. I called to him, thinking how far ahead he had gotten, and taking a moment to appreciate his oncoming PR. Smooth and strong, I chanted in my head.
I began to imagine the declivity on the far side, only having to come back up,
when I suddenly reached a set of gates marking not just the top of the hill but
also the turnaround. A surge of adrenaline shot through me and I flew down the
hill calling to Steve, Dan, and Shaun who had just begun their climb.
I started picking off runners as though they were standing
still and watched as the pace on my watch steadily dropped from 6:00 to 5:47,
5:45, and settling on 5:43. At 12 miles, I started to lose a bit of that gusto
but knew that I could push on for just one more mile. I waited for the course
map’s promised rollercoaster downhill finish but instead began climbing once
again. I turned to my watch and saw I still had .75 to go and decided to cutoff
the watch looking from then on. My breath came in short puffs and I became very
aware that the sun was fully up and on us now with no clouds to shield us.
The course merged with the five mile "mini marathoners" and I weaved through
them, finally able to hear the announcer welcoming everyone to the finish. The
balloon arch reached up and I threw in one last kick, crossing the line in
1:18:17. A shiny new PR off a training run.
I reunited with C.J. who also hit his goal and we cheered in
Dan and Steve, but somehow missing Shaun. More fist bumps, sweaty hugs, and
high-fives as we shared in each other’s new PRs.
We began the slow, aching jog back to our hotel, trying to coax
our tired, stiff legs back into action. This time, the 9:00 pace didn’t feel so
bad.
