Wise Decisions?

"Trust in Allah...but tie up your camel" -- Sindbad

"Be prepared" -- Lord Baden Powell

"Always check your chain" -- Some guy on a motorcycle at a Sonic Drive-In

"Study the stinking race-course map" -- Terry "Sore Feet" Heggy

Several months ago (before I contracted plantar faciitis), I entered the Castle Rock Half Marathon. At the time, it seemed to fit in well with my anticipated training plan for the Triathlon Nationals in August.

My training has NOT gone according to plan. For the last two months, my inflamed foot has kept me sidelined, relegated to impact-free training on the elliptical...or sitting on the sofa. Needless to say, I am not in half-marathon shape.

Still, I didn't want the race entry to go to waste. So with my foot feeling better over the last week, I decided to show up, collect my t-shirt, and give my (hopefully) healed foot a bit of a test.

With no ambitions of finishing the race, and no expectations of any particular level of performance, I figured I could run a few miles and drop out when I started feeling tired. Figuring that I would be at the back of the pack, I expected to be able to hitch a ride with the sweeper vehicle if necessary.

The start felt good, and even with a bit of a hill to start the race, my first mile was quicker than I had expected. In fact, I felt good enough that I began to think of seeing what I could do for a 10K. If I could run 6.2 miles under an hour, I'd feel pretty good about my status for the triathlon...especially if I could stay healthy and get back to some running training for the next few weeks.

[NOTE to my runner friends: Yes, I do realize that accepted wisdom warns against increasing weekly mileage by more than 10%. Since I had run a total of 4 miles in the past two weeks, going 10K would be at least a 50% increase, and a very stupid thing to do. But if you haven't already realized that I regularly do stupid things, you haven't been paying attention.]

The good news is that I held a decent pace through the 10K, getting there in a little over 57 minutes. I am very happy with that.

I continued running up to the 7-mile marker, then began walking. I could see a school near the path, and assumed it was the same one we had passed in the second mile. By cutting through the school grounds, I would have a decent and relaxing walk back to the finish line, where I could inform the Race Director that I was a DNF.

Unfortunately, there was an uncrossable ravine between the path and the school. But I could see the 8-mile aid station in the distance, so I thought I would jog up there, get some fuel, and ask for the quickest way to get my day finished.

They had Clif Bloks at the turn-around aid station, so I stood there and consumed a packet while watching all the folks I had passed run by to start back down the path. I walked over to a police officer on a bicycle and explained that I had dropped out, and asked for directions to the finish.

Well, it turns out my sense of direction was badly misaligned. The school I had seen was not the same one as earlier, and the downtown finish line was in exactly the opposite direction than I had assumed. The cop assured me that the quickest way to the finish was to follow the race course (a fact that a post-race map check would later confirm.) It appeared that I would have to walk 5 more miles.

I did some math. Even at a walking pace, I should still be able to make it to the finish line under 3 hours. My legs were trashed, and my foot was beginning to feel inflamed.

Did I cross the finish line? Yes, yes I did.

But here's the thing: Walking takes a long time. And the sun was starting to make the day uncomfortably hot. Plus, it's not much fun to watch people run past you as you amble along.

Either way, I was going to be sore. So why not jog, and get to the finish line a little sooner? As long as I didn't actually break anything, I ought to be OK. And sure enough, I actually felt all right as I concentrated on being really smooth and not trying to push too much.

Shortly after I began jogging, a young lady passed me. She was running much faster than me, but would walk up each of the hills. I'd catch her and pass as she walked. Then she'd run by me again. We played this cat and mouse game all the way to the finish line. With about a half mile left, she pulled a significant distance ahead, and I conceded that I wouldn't catch her again. But surprisingly, she started walking again...and I ended up crossing the finish line before she did.

As soon as the race was over, I did some stretching in the grass and decided that by some miracle, I hadn't really hurt myself. We'll see what I feel like in the morning, but right after the race, I felt pretty perky for having run twice as far as I had intended.

My total half-marathon time was under 2:19, which isn't that bad considering the walking and break time. Because the race field was pretty small (fewer than 200 people total), I thought there might even be a chance that there were only three guys in my age group -- so I stuck around for the awards. Turns out that I was 10th in my age group...but at least I wasn't dead last!

What happens next? Will I be able to run next week and actually do a bit of training before the race? Or will I wake up tomorrow unable to walk? We'll see. In the meantime, thanks for stopping by, and have a great day!