Abe's Amble 10K - 2011

It's bright and early, and my alarm goes off.  Time to make the doughnuts.... No, it's time to run!  I lay there deciding that I would much rather sleep in.  I feel like I could sleep another five hours. 

Last night, we went to the Muni to see the Wizard of Oz.  It seemed like it would be a laid back enough thing to do on the night before a race.  Unfortunately, it got out after 11:00 p.m., and we didn't get in to bed until after midnight.  I don't know why I'm mentioning this, if we didn't go to the show, we probably wouldn't have been in bed before midnight anyways.  And if we were, we wouldn't have slept well.  It was race night eve, after all!

So after talking myself in to getting up, everything after that is okay.  That's the hardest part is getting the first foot out of bed.  It's funny (funny peculiar, not funny ha-ha) that I haven't had any race nervousness.  I'm not feeling the butterflies, and that's strange for me.  We drive out to the fairgrounds and wait in line for the other hundreds of cars to park--other runners and walkers.  They are everywhere.  At the grandstand, we talk to some friends and then head to the front gate for a warm-up mile.

My legs feel fairly good.  I feel a little tired in my quads, but that will go away as soon as I hear "Go!".  After the run, some short sprints and a few stretches, we pile into the starting area corral.  Our friend Rick asks me what pace I'm shooting for.  When I tell him between 8:30 and 8:40, he says it's about the pace he thinks he will run as well.  It's 7:30 a.m.--time to "Ready. Set. Go!"

And we're off!  The crowd surges forward, and I move to the left side of the street next to Rick to stay out of the crowd.  As we head up Grandstand Boulevard and turn on to Main Street of the fairgrounds, I keep checking my GPS.  It shows that we are pacing between 8:00 and 8:20.  I tell Rick that I'm pretty sure I can't maintain that, so I'm dropping back.  He pulls forward, and I feel better settling into my 8:30ish pace.

We head out of the fairgrounds and turn onto Sangamon Avenue.  There's one hill on Sangamon.  It's not too bad.  We head down, I pick up the pace and pass a few runners.  I keep to the far left. 

My dad said he would be there by Frannie's on Sangamon.  I see his truck as we get closer.  I see a couple of people sitting on chairs in the area, but I don't see my dad.  Right as I am wondering where he could be, I hear, "Hi, Tammy."  He's on the right side of the road, not the left.  He gets a few nice pictures of the side and back of my head looking over at Frannie's.  You can tell I'm looking for him.  Nice picture (see below).  GPS rings out.

Mile 1 completed:  8:25 pace.  I knew I was pacing a little fast.

I think it's time for the iPod.  I pull out my Shuffle and ear buds which have become tangled like crazy.  I spend a couple minutes trying to unknot and unravel them.  Finally, I get them on and crank the music.  I love music. 

We continue into Lincoln Park for a short amount of time.  I know it's just minutes before we hit the Black Avenue hill going the "easy" direction (note: sarcasm).  I head down the hill trying to keep my footfalls light to not jar my knees or twist anything.  I'm being passed, but I just don't care.  We reach the bottom and then slowly start the ascent.  Mountain climbing terms are the only thing that seem appropriate for these hills. I'm being passed by a lot of people.  I find this weird because at the half marathon in April, I was passing other people on this very hill heading the other direction.  I don't think much of it until I pass a couple of those people walking soon after the hill is done.  Too much, too fast.

I am recovering from the hill on my way down Third Street.  I look at my watch and I'm doing about 9:00.  I give myself some time to recover, but I don't want to slow too much below my goal pace.  After a minute or two, I'm ready to go again.  I turn on Eastman Avenue and head toward Monument Drive.  A police car--the pace car--passes me going the other way.  I see Emily K. hanging out the window with a camera.  I'm sure that if she got a picture of me I look like I'm giving the camera a dirty look.  My mind wasn't working right. It was difficult to figure out that someone was taking pictures out the passenger side window!  Right behind that car is Bryan Glass--and no one else for quite sometime.  Dang, he's fast!

I head into Oak Ridge Cemetery and start looking for Shane in the returning runners.  Down the hill.  Up the hill.  Around the corner.  Water.  Back down the hill.  Back up the hill.  Done with Oak Ridge.  Never saw Shane.

Mile 3 done:  8:43 pace.  All those hills and recovery, I'm glad it's not too far off target!

Back to the Black Avenue hill.  One last time, and the hardest part of this race is over.  I'm trying to pick a runner ahead of me and stay with them, but it's not working out well this race.  Sometimes, I just can't keep up.  This is letting me know that I am running to the edge of my abilities today.  As we approach the descent, I scroll through a couple of songs on my iPod.  I need something really pumping to keep me going strong.  I hear the beginning beats of "Lose Yourself" by Eminem, and I know I got this hill.  Something about that song just gets me moving--driving me right up the hill.  I'm passing a couple of people that just do not have it in them to keep running.  I hit the volume a couple of times, and before I know it, I'm at the top and turning back into Lincoln Park. 

I round the corner, and I've got new found energy.  I begin to pass a few people.  I'm using this flat portion of the course and my rejuvenation to move ahead.  "Lose Yourself" ends, but I hit repeat because I know that I could use another dose.  It never seems to get old when I'm pushing myself. 

Mile 5 done: 8:45 pace.  Slower than my goal, but I'm not complaining.

We head back out of Lincoln Park onto Sangamon Avenue heading back to the fairgrounds.  This time running past Frannie's, I look at both sides of the road.  I see me dad with the camera, and he takes a few of me.  Then I make a silly face for good measure--see, I went against my own advice on trying to not "pose" for running pictures.  We all know how that turns out.  Not good.  --->

Heading back into the fair, I keep checking my watch.  There's less than a mile to go, but I know I'm still not ready or able to really kick it in.  I try to speed up, but it's just not there.  I feel like I'm biding my time to the finish line, and I hate it.  At the same time though, I know that I have nearly a mile left, and if I speed up too much now, I doubt if I would be able to finish strong.  I'm almost to Grandstand Boulevard!

I turn the corner and I can see the grandstand building and the crowds lining the road.  I start to lengthen my stride.  I'm running behind this guy who is picking up the pace nearly at the same exact pace as me.  Actually, he passed me just a few seconds ago, but now I'm doing all I can do to keep up with him.  About halfway to the grandstand, my watch lets me know the last full mile is done.

Mile 6 done:  8:35 pace.  There's my goal pace.

Oh, the last stretch.  How I love you!  When I see those blue mats across the road, something comes over me.  I really pull together everything I have left in me, and go as fast as I can.  I run through the crowd, scanning for people I know.  I see Shane at the last minute and wave.  Then I cross the finish.  I hit my GPS to stop.

Last two-tenths of a mile:  7:17 pace.  I always love my final stretch pace! 

Overall official time:  53:43 (8:39 pace). 189/822 total runners.  10/74 age/gender.  43/491 women. 

I did not hit the 8:36 pace SmartCoach had me running, but I was close.  SmartCoach didn't factor in the hills that are in Abe's Amble--it's a tough course.  No excuses though, I'm still extremely happy with my run.  I ran hard and pretty much left it all out there.  Judging how my legs felt afterwards, I may have left a little more than had out there.  I need to remember, before the race, I had doubts I could get anywhere near that pace for 6.2 miles. 

I can't wait to see how another year of running under my belt will change how I run this race next year.  It's almost been a year since I started running.  Maybe I'm not so much a newbie anymore.

Pre-race thoughts: Abe's Amble 10K

This morning, I did my last training run prior to Abe's Amble 10K on Sunday morning.  My SmartCoach application had me doing a one mile warmup, three miles at 8:59, one mile cool down.  Due to not being able to drag my tired butt out of bed on time, I had to shorten the actual tempo part to two miles.  I'm hoping it's enough though. 

The SmartCoach has me running the 10K at a 8:36 pace.  I don't know what to think about this pace.  I ran a half marathon just months ago at 9:14 per mile.  I ran a 5K in May at 8:07.  I ran 2 miles last Thursday at 7:51.  I don't know if I'm trying to convince you I can do it, or myself.  Running is so mental.  These are good reminders for me.

The run this morning felt decent.  The warmup mile, my achilles felt tight and stiff.  It was 6:30 in the morning though.  I'm allowed to be stiff that early.  I'm no spring chicken after all.  After the first mile, I tried to pace myself at 8:59.  I felt like I was all over the place. I want to download my GPS information to see how bad it was.  Sometimes the watch said 7:50ish, other times it said 9:30ish.  However, when the GPS chimed another mile done, it read 9:00 on the nose for mile #2. 

I keep running and zone out.  I forget I'm trying to stay at 8:59.  I look down and see that my pace is 10:03.  Oops.  Lazy running.  I pick it up again.  I forget again.  I pick it up again.  I'm just not with it this morning.  Ring--mile #3 done.  I look down and it says 8:58.  Not bad staying on overall target while being all over the place! 

I cool down with a last mile at 10:00.  Talk about precise!  So, am I ready for Abe's Amble?  Check back in on Sunday! 

Illinois State Fair Parade Run - 2 miles

This short, fast race is a favorite of many local and not-so-local racers.  It's a 2-mile out and back starting from the main drag of the state fair, out the fair, down the parade route with tons of spectators lining the road waiting for the parade to pass.  It's relatively flat, so you see some fast times.

I had never run this race or anything less than 3.1 miles.  So, I was trying to come up with the right goal pace for myself.  I have decided to never run a race without a goal pace again.  I tend to sell myself short if I don't set a goal.  My last 5K back in May, I paced around 8:09 per mile.  Even though I have not put in quality training since that race, I decided that I wanted to beat 8:00 per mile, a total goal of finishing in less than 16 minutes.  It's totally doable, right?  Maybe, I'm certainly not confident.

As the race time got close, the pre-race butterflies kick in.  It feels very similar to the way I feel right before I have to do public speaking.  I take deep breaths and hope that they are just helping with adrenaline that I'll need for the race.

We get to the fair and see runners everywhere warming up.  We walk through the Ethnic Village to see if we know anyone since we are a little early.  About 20 minutes before the race start, we take a warm-up jog down the road and back.  My achilles are stiff and tight.  I'm hoping that works itself out before the race.  We return to the starting line area and the crowds are getting thick now.  We find some water and stretch a little.  All of a sudden, it seems, the announcer says "Ready. Set. Go." and we're off!

The crowd of runners surges toward the main gate of the fairgrounds and out to the streets.  I see Shane ahead of me for the first quarter or half a mile.  I'm constantly checking my GPS to try to keep my pace under control.  At one point I look down and see 6:23.  I back down.  Shane moves ahead.  The pace actually feels comfortable, but I know my mind, adrenaline and the crowd is tricking me.  I spend nearly the first three-quarters of a mile trying to find my pace.  Sometimes I look and I'm going faster than my goal.  Other times, I see a pace over 9:00.  Either the watch or I am jumping all over the place!

It's warm out (about 81 degrees), but about as nice of weather we could ask for at 5:30 p.m. on an August afternoon!  Last year, it was about 20 degrees hotter during the race.  We approach the turn-around and my throat is about as dry as it can be!  Thankfully they are handing out water.  I take one, even though I know it will slow me down a bit.  I drink about as much as I drip down the front of my shirt, but I don't mind.

The GPS rings out, I look at my first mile pace, and I finished in 7:48.  Wow, faster than I thought and faster than my goal.  However, I can't slow down now.  I have to keep a decent pace, but now I know that I have a 12 second wiggle room in my second mile.  I seem like I am running in my own little world.  It might be the music from my iPod or I'm just zoning out.  I'm not sure which one.

I don't see the crowd lining the roads, but I know they are there.  Some people are cheering for runners as they go by, especially the teenage boys in superhero capes.  Mostly I know because of the cigarette smoke we are running through.  Even as an ex-smoker, this is totally disgusting and so hard to deal with while running.  I am pushing myself to the edge of my abilities including my heart, lungs and legs.  My lungs need clean air to process at its peak capacity!  I feel sick trying to breathe.  My lungs are definitely feeling it.

We turn the corner to head back on to the straight-away that leads into the fair.  I am starting to feel my legs protest the pace.  I look at my watch and we are at 1.58 miles.  A little less than a half mile to go.  I can do this!  I can maintain this pace!  (I'm trying to convince myself, so please bare with me.)  I pray for the main gates to miraculously get closer.  The time and distance is creeping by.

I see them!  We approach the main gate.  My legs just want to give up, but I don't let them.  There's a slight down and up a hill before the finish line.  I try to lengthen my stride to speed up and finish strong.  My efforts feel useless!  I don't notice any difference in my pace.  However, I pass a couple of people heading up the hill.  As I get close to the milkshake stand that I'm supposed to meet Carrie after the race with Jocelyn, I see them sitting on the side of the road.  I yell for Jocelyn and wave to her.  She sees me!  They all wave back, and I feel so proud to be a healthy example for my daughter!

The blue finish line mats are in my sights!  I give it everything I have left through the last couple hundred feet.
I see the timing clock as I cross the finish line and it says 15:45.  I push the stop button on my GPS and it says the same.  I did it!!  I am totally wasted and spent, and I can barely catch my breath as I stop to get my timing chip cut off.  I walk out of the chute trying to get my breath under control.  That was rough!

I stand there are try to recover while feeling nauseous.  If I thought about it too long, I would hurl.  For real.  This was probably the race that I best gauged my physical abilities and then met them.  There have been so many races that I had so much left in the tank when the race was over.  Today, I left it all out on the road.  Every little bit of it.  And I feel good (except for that pesky pukey feeling).

Official time:  15:45.69.  156th overall.  36th female. 4th place in my division.  Ah, just missed a bronze award finish!  There's always next year. 

2012 goal = 14:59 or less.

Stoneman Triathlon

A few days before the Stoneman Triathlon, I tried to gauge my overall fitness in two foreign sports to determine if I could or should register.  Shane found a bike for me to borrow from a friend of a friend.  He picked up the bike for me on Wednesday evening; two and a half days before the triathlon.  One day before online registration closed.

I went on a six mile ride on a loop around our house.  I did it in 26 minutes.  Ugh.  That means 52 minutes for 12 miles.  Looking at the race results from last year, I would need to be closer to 40 minutes to be competitive at all. Shane gave me a few good excuses like the hilly route I took and the fact that I wasn't going "all out" because I wasn't racing.  I happily agreed, even though in the back of my mind, I knew that wasn't the case.  I wasn't sure I'd do much better in a race.  I pushed those thoughts out of my head, even though I knew I could not make up the time I needed to be happy with my performance.

On Thursday morning (the deadline day for registration), I planned to go to Eisenhower pool to see how I could do swimming.  I used to swim all the time as a kid--literally every single day of my summer for a decade was spent at Colony West pool.  So I thought, maybe it will come back to me quickly?  Maybe I'd be able to pull this off?  Unfortunately, Eisenhower pool changed its summer hours, and they were not open to public lap swims on Thursday morning, only Thursday night.  I had volleyball on Thursday night.  So, I guess I'm not going to be able to swim.

Even though I was unable to swim and did not feel good about my biking time, I registered anyways.  I just don't understand my thought process sometimes.  I somehow think that it will be just fine.  I'm registering for a triathlon with absolutely no training, and I think I will be okay.  There is a fine line between courage and stupidity in decision making sometimes. 

I can't believe I am doing this.  Sure, the 5K run is no problem. I have been running for nearly a year now with a half marathon completed just a few months ago.  I haven't swam more than a few feet at a time in a couple of decades. I never ride my bike. What could go wrong, really?  Don't answer that.

So here it is!  It's the morning of the triathlon.  We get up, throw on our stuff, grab our bags and go.  The starting line is just a couple miles from our house.  There are so many people here!  We park and walk our bikes to the transition area.  They write our bib numbers on our arms and legs.  We take our bikes and set them up in our appropriate "wave".  The different waves are determined by gender and age.  I'm with 39 and under.

The bike rack for my wave is nearly full, so I take a spot at the very end.  I watch other people to see how they are setting things up.  I set my towel down, and lay out my running shoes with a sock in each shoe so I won't be fumbling with them after the swim.  I also lay out my shirt, shorts, biking helmet and a bag of gummy bears.  I attach the GPS to the handle bars and turn it on so it's ready to go when I'm done with the swim.  Oh man, I'm getting nervous!

We walk down to the lake for announcements and stretching.  Shortly after that, the Iron Abe contestants start their swims.  The Iron Abe route is twice as long, not for the faint of heart!  We watch as the first four waves go.  They are going every three minutes.  I am in wave six.  Shane is in seven.  Oh jeeze, it's my turn!  I put on the swimcap and goggles and slowly walk into the lake.  The water is a warm 89 degrees.  Ewwwww, did I tell you that I absolutely hate lake water and the feeling of the algae all over the boat ramp is making me want to hurl?!  Gross! Gross! Gross!  All right Tammy, suck it up girl!

I look out 250 yards to a yellow marker in the lake.  That is my destination.  It doesn't really look so bad from here.  It's the moment of truth.  They count down for our wave to begin, and we are OFF!  I pretty much let everyone go in front of me, but I'm still being bumped by the others who had the same plan.  I start with a slow freestyle stroke.  I come up for my first breath and it just doesn't feel long enough to take in the amount of air I need.  I try breathing on every third stroke.  Still  not enough.  I have a minor panic attack and begin to do a breast stroke.  At first I allow my face to go under, then I start feeling like I don't want my face to go under at all.  I just can't get my breathing under control.  My heart is racing.  I'm not processing air well, and I'm going SO SLOW! I swallow lake water several times as I gasp for air.  The lake is so disgusting...and I'm drinking it while trying to stay alive.

About two-thirds of the way out to the turn around, I stop at at a one of the surfboards manned by a lifeguard to rest.  I am so happy to stop for a moment because I'm absolutely winded and exhausted.  I can barely believe how I feel.  I look back to see how far I've come so far, and the other way to see how far I still have to go.  I really start questioning whether or not I'm going to make it.  There are two other people resting on the surfboard with me, so I don't feel so bad about that.  I think, it's now or never.  I push off and start swimming again.  Immediately, I'm tired and winded.  I severely underestimated how hard this would be.  The panic really starts to set it now.  I'm not sure I can make it, and I feel a bit of terror come over me.  I can't quit, but I really doubt I can keep this up for another 300 yards!

At this moment, almost as if it was on cue, one of the other people who stopped at the surf board with me starts calling for help.  I see the jet ski turn around and head behind me, but I don't know what happened to her.  I'm guessing they pulled her out of the water.  This doesn't help my state of mind at all.  At this point, I'm being passed and ran into by people from the wave that started three minutes after mine.  This is the wave Shane is in.  I roll over onto my back and start doing a backstroke.  This is the only way that I can keep my head out of the water to breathe and not expend too much energy.  My goal now is just to make it back to shore.

I'm mostly just using my legs, but work my arms and hands into it occasionally.  I wonder how slow I'm actually going because it's very hard to tell with no point of reference except the sky.  I stop and pop my head up every so often to make sure I'm not getting in anyone's way, and that I'm not veering wildly off course.  I have no idea while I'm on my back which way I'm facing.  I look up and the lines of clouds and try to focus on following one.  I'm fairly relaxed while doing this, I should have done it from the start instead of stopping at that board.  If it wasn't for people running in to me and smacking me in the face every now and then, I'd be perfect!

Then I hear, "Tam, is that you?"  It's Shane, and he's caught up to me.  I tell him I am so tired, but doing okay.  I try to reassure him with my voice.  I now know I could stay on my back indefinitely kicking toward the shore.  I tell him I am fine, and he swims on ahead.  I'm getting closer.  Dear God, let this swim end soon!

I look up to see how much farther it is and it seems just within my reach.  I return to the breast stroke and side stroke to make sure I'm heading in the right direction.  Our friend, Dave (Perfect Concept Photography) is cheering me on from the dock.  I know he's here to take pictures, but I seriously can't imagine having this moment documented.  I continue to side stoke intentionally facing away from the camera--easier than trying to tell him no pictures please.  Then finally, I make it to the ramp!  Oh sweet Jesus, thank you for keeping me safe! 

Swim results:  20:46.8 - Amazingly awful, but I'm alive!  Next time, train for it, idiot!

I run to the transition area, completely winded and exhausted.  I pass a couple of older triathletes who lapped me during the swim.  They kicked my butt!  One of their friends snaps a picture, and I run right in front of the camera.  Oops!  (A mutual friend from Facebook shares the picture with me later, see left.)  I am so wiped out that I consider walking, but I know I have so much time to make up.

I enter the first transition by trying to dry off a little, but it doesn't seem to matter because I'm so soaking wet.  I grab my socks and put the first one on after drying my foot a little.  Worthless, still so wet.  I put on my shoe.  I don't even try to dry off my other foot.  I pull the sock on, put on my shoe, look over at the stack of items still sitting there, and realize I haven't put on my shorts yet.  Aw, man!  I try to pull my shorts on over my shoes, and I almost fall over.  I catch my balance, and hope no one is watching me.  It's pretty deserted around here.  Most people are already on their bikes, thank goodness.

I finally get my socks, shoes, shorts, shirt and helmet on, grab my bike off the rack and head out.  I fumble with the GPS, trying to get it on my wrist, but my fine motor skills seem to have completely disappeared after a swim like that.  I get on the bike and start riding. 

Transition #1:  2:46.8.  Again, not good at all.  Nearly three minutes!

For the first mile or two, I'm still trying to catch my breath.  I'm trying to get my legs to work properly.  I'm trying to adjust the gears on the bike.  I'm trying to get this damn watch on!!  It's a quarter of a mile in to the bike portion when I realize that I haven't started the GPS.  Finally, I'm situated, and I settle into my ride. 

I am being passed by people every once and a while.  On rare occasion, I pass someone, but not often.  I try to drink some Gatorade to rehydrate before I have to run.  As I put the bottle back in the holder on the bike, I nearly drop it.  Yikes!  I need to be more careful next time.  Just about that time, I pass the first water bottle on the side of the road.  I would see several that day.

I'm riding along and finally start feeling better around the Pawnee Road turn off.  I pass someone and try to push harder than I have been for the first couple of miles.  I hate riding uphill, but I try my "Kill the Hill" mantra from the half marathon.  Just get through this I keep telling myself.  Every once and a while, someone passes me and tells me "great job".  I love the camaraderie that comes with these types of sports.  It always seems like it's just the time that I need encouragement too.

As I approach the turn-around at the halfway mark, I slow down considerably and allow the Iron Abe bikers to have the full right of way merging through.  I start to head back, and I feel much better now.  I'm still not going really fast, but I feel respectable.  I remember that I stashed gummy bears for a quick sugar fix during the race.  I pull them out and start downing them.  If I had a glass of cold water right now, it would be heaven!  I have to settle for lukewarm orange Gatorade. 

I also remember the gel pack that I stashed with the gummies.  They gave them out with the registration packets.  I know you are not supposed to do anything new on race day, but I don't have that much longer to go.  If it gives me some energy, then great.  I rip off the top and take a little bit in.  It is absolutely disgusting!  It's like warm jelly that doesn't even taste that good.  If it was cold, I could have possibly tolerated it, but this was just plain gross.  I stash the rest of the pack on my handlebars and go back to eating the gummy bears.

 © Perfect Concept Photography 2011

I finally reach the turn by the zoo, and I can't believe I'm almost done with this ride.  The final stretch along Center Park had people cheering, and Dave was there for a picture.  For some stupid reason, I try to force a smile.  It comes off very much as a grimace.  Lovely.  Helpful hint:  unless you are highly photogenic, it is best to just ignore the camera and act natural.  I have no business trying to "pose" for a picture at this point in my day.

Bike results:  48:13.2. Sigh.

I approach the transition area, get off the bike and walk it in.  Since I biked with my running shoes on, I don't have much to do except put my bike back and take the helmet off.  I wonder how many people run out with their helmets still on?  I feel like I'm forgetting something.  Could it be that easy?  Oh well, I take off for my run.

Transition #2:  49.7 seconds.  Not bad.  Good thing I didn't have to change shoes.

OH. MY. GOODNESS.  My legs HATE me!  The initial part of the run is uphill: up from Lindsay Bridge boat ramp parking lot to the beach house area.  My calves are seizing up and cramping.  I keep thinking, just run through it.  It will stop.  I keep going, past the finish line area, where tons of people are lining the course to watch the finishers coming in.  I still have about 30 minutes to go before I'll be back here.  I glance at the GPS which says I'm going about 9:40ish.  I'm dying!  So I slow it down.

I push through the first mile in hopes that my legs will feel better and they don't.  I don't want to walk, but my legs are begging me to.  I run out onto East Lake Drive, cross the road and decide to walk for a minute.  I just can't take it!  As soon as I go to walk, someone runs by me and says, "let's go!", urging me to run again.  I answer back that I'm trying.  It's enough encouragement to get my legs moving again.  I decide that I'm going to walk through a couple of the water stations, but try to run for the rest.  The strategy works okay for me, and by the turn around, my legs are feeling much better.  The guy right in front of me is doing a reasonable pace, so I decide to latch on to him for the rest of the run.  I walk through one last water station, keeping my pacer in my sights.  The large cup of ice water that I'm holding is amazing!  I keep running, I'm back into Center Park now.  The end is in sight!

My watch rings out an alert:  three miles done.  With only a tenth of a mile left, I call on everything I have left from my legs.  I lengthen my stride and push through to the finish.  My pacer has also picked up his pace.  I never catch up to him until the moment that I run into the back of him when he stops to take off his timing bracelet after crossing the finish line.  I apologize and then step to the side to have mine taken off. My final tenth of a mile was done at a 7:42 pace.  If I still had that in me, why couldn't I do better on that run?

5K results: 31:50.1.  This is my slowest 5K time ever. Okay, so it was the toughest 5K I have ever ran!

© Perfect Concept Photography 2011

I'm done.  I survived!  I can't even believe it!  I signed up for a sprint triathlon with no training and lived to tell about it.

Overall time:  1:44:26.6.

A few things I have learned from this experience: (1) I need to do another one of these; (2) I need to actually train for it; (3) I need to get a better bike; and (4) I need to learn how to swim!  In my overall results, I had the 8th slowest swim time and 18th slowest biking time.  For a competitive person like me, it is horrible to see my name so low on a list.  Out of 220 participants, I finished at 203.  I hate even admitting that.  I was beat by 70 year olds, and probably an 80 year old or two as well.  Nothing against them, they are amazing warriors, but I should be able to at least hang with the 70 year olds, right?

In hindsight, I'm kind of glad Eisenhower pool wasn't open for a lap swim that morning.  Had I been able to get into the pool, I would have realized that I was amazingly unprepared for a 500 yard swim.  I probably wouldn't have signed up.  I do not regret signing up at all.  This was an awesome experience that I hope to repeat with a little better outcome in the future.  So, time to start figuring out a training plan for another triathlon, as well as how to run faster in the meantime.  I've got a year until I can do this one again.  I can't let this be my one and only showing at a triathlon.  I have no choice but to train.  Until next time...