But the 10K came, in due time, and I finally got the chance to strut my stuff.
Mark and I woke up on Saturday for the 10K, only to find that there was a steady stream of rain just going at it outside. Checked the weather--no chance of it letting up all day.
But the rain couldn't deter me, I was so jazzed up to get this thing out of the way. I've put off a lot of what I've needed to do for Atlanta Yoga Scene, my yoga practice in general, and this blog aside to get myself in running shape, and by god, I just wanted it to be over with.
|Must have a sense of humor about oneself running!|
Please click on it to make it bigger...haha
So Mark and I drove to the race, parked and hung out in his car near the check-in and start line, to avoid going into the cold rain. Mark was generally peeved about the lost sleep getting up for this thing, dreading the upcoming wet socks and cold appendages, and annoyed by my excitement. Me, I was giddy as a freaking three year old about to go on an excellent adventure through the Hershey's factory or something.
I also want to interject that I was excited because I thought that I had a fighting chance at beating Mark in the race. I had beat him in the Peachtree 10K last year, and he hadn't trained as hard as I had for this race, so I was CERTAIN that I had a chance. He's an athletic guy, but I'm determined, dammit.
We eventually succumbed to the fact that we were going to get wet and the rain would continue, and waiting in the car was delaying the inevitable, so we went out to the starting line.
After a little playful "I'll be waiting for you at the finish line" banter, the shot was fired and we were off!
I started my slow and steady pace, feeling great, but noticed a lot of people running past me. I thought it was one of those everyone-starts-too-fast-and-walks-later kinds of things, but after two miles, I was the last of the last and NO ONE was walking. AT ALL. And in fact, I only ever saw a handful of people walking the whole race...me being a shameful participant towards the end.
Now, a history: when I ran the Peachtree last year, I was about middle of the pack, but that's because the pack was (literally) 60,000 people, and more than a couple who hadn't trained for the race. I was expecting something similar. I knew that the people running the CRR had trained some, but I had too! Thus my surprise when everyone, and I mean EVERYONE ran clear past my 10:00 mile pace within the first couple of miles.
The psychological warfare waged by this fact was brutal. I'm a 23 year old girl with no more juice in the tank than a 60-something year old man.
|Drowned, near dead rat.|
I had relied on voodoo luck to make it.
Bollocks. My fault.
I trudged through the rest of the race, embarrassed, unhappy, tired and aware that I'll probably not make it to half-marathon status this year. Or ever.
I ended up at the finish line at 1:03 something at the VERY bottom-most part of the pack...to Mark cheering me on with "I MADE IT IN 55!!!!"
While I was genuinely excited for my wonderful, loving boyfriend, my inner jealous, competitive self was like "RUB IT IN WHY DON'T YOU?!"
Anyhoo, since Mark was waiting with his dad, I put on a happy face and did the "yay, I feel great!" routine, but after Mark's dad made a comment about the winner's time of 38:00 being slow, I decided that I'm done with running. I'm last in my age group and damn near last in the race.
Okay, okay, so my last time was 1:10, meaning I took a minute per mile off my time, so I should be happy about that. Mostly, however, I feel like a loser. But I did run a 10K in the rain.