Amica Seattle Half Marathon: On giving it your all (Part 2)

When you run the same race more than once, you can't help but compare performances.  Races typically happen on or around the same date every year, and a lot can happen in a year.

For example, I've now run the Seattle Rock N Roll 4 times.  The first year was my first half marathon.  The second year was my first full marathon.  And then I ran the next 2 years as halves, "just for fun."  Every year that I run the race, I can't help but think back on the year before.  Or the year before that.  As I round a certain corner on the course or climb a certain hill, I get flashbacks of how I was feeling, which body parts were hurting or holding strong, and which voice in my head was the loudest at that moment, in that exact spot, exactly one year ago.

So, as I ran the Seattle Half Marathon on Sunday, comparisons to last year's race were unavoidable.  Therefore, let's get the time comparisons out of the way right at the get-go:
Seattle Half Marathon 2011:  1:59:33, average pace 9:07
Seattle Half Marathon 2012:  1:52:47, average pace 8:36
Total Time Loss: 6:44
Average Page Difference: 31 secs/mile

Those are some stats I can smile widely at.

This year, I have strengthened and added speed more drastically in my running than any other year in my short racing career.  I could discuss the reasons why or how, but it would push this race recap into a Part 3. So instead, I'll save all the whys and hows for a future post.  For now, it's time to get on with the race recap.

We left off last time just after the race started.  I crossed the start line with Erica, Jason, and Joe.  Jason took off right away and ran himself to a super speedy 1:35 PR.  Joe stuck with Erica and I for the first few miles through downtown Seattle.  We chatted, weaved up onto sidewalks, around crowds of people, between cars parked on the street, and finally made our way into a clear opening as we entered the tunnel of the I90 express lanes.  These miles were pretty uneventful other than the fact that we started realizing we were going a little faster than our goal starting pace (remember, I wanted to start at 8:50, Erica pushed for 8:40 but agreed on the slower pace).  Here are the overall splits for those interested in numbers:

I had to cut the headings off the top, but I think you get the idea.

Notice that after the first mile, we came nowhere close to that 8:50 goal.  We average more around 8:25 for miles 2-7.  This made me nervous, knowing that in addition to the rolling hills that we had already hit, we had 2 monsters to tackle around mile 7.5 and just before 9.  So, as usual, during the first half of the race as Erica and I stuck together, we talked about unimportant things and kept looking at our watches, telling ourselves to slow down, take it easy.  There were mountains to climb.

And when we hit the first mountain (left turn from McGilvra up Galer, left turn and all the way up Madison, for those of you familiar with Seattle), my first solid flashbacks from last year hit hard.  I all but died on that hill last year.  I was running with Erica and one of our TNT coaches, Kathleen, from the season we had just finished up.  We had stuck together for the first 7 miles, but as we got up Galer and rounded the corner to Madison, all I could picture was Erica and Kathleen slowly getting farther and farther ahead of me as I ran out of steam up the hill.  And then the rest of the race was a mental battle after that.

But this year, it was different.  This year I had the super hilly Nike Women's Half Marathon under my belt.  I knew I could tackle hills like this and survive to continue running (and then tackle some more).  So with that recently gained confidence, I powered up the hill.  I panted and pushed and grimaced and climbed until we hit the top.  And then, just like I did in Nike, I hit the top of the near mile long hill, and it was done.  I didn't die.  I didn't walk.  My legs didn't fall off.  And the average pace for that hill?  About 8:30, I think.  Still well under that intended "starting" pace.

One of the things that I had learned from Nike, was that after the first brutal hill, if I slowed down just enough, controlled my breathing and relaxed my muscles, then my body could recover.  I could continue on as if I hadn't tackled that hill.  So I used this knowledge after the Madison hill.  I tried to slow up, relax, and get recovered for the next quickly approaching monster of a hill.  This is the first time race experience has really paid off for me.  Instead of panicking about the next hill, I focused on recovering, getting ready for it, and conquering it.

That didn't make the next hill physically any easier though.  The climb from Lake Washington Blvd, up Interlaken to the Arboretum is much shorter than the Madison hill, but it is way steeper.  Was it easy?  No way.  But that typical nagging voice, that voice that spoke so loudly to me in last year's race on that hill, it was quiet this time.  It wasn't completely silent.  It urged me to slow down, walk, stop.  But it was just a whisper, a faint nudging in the back of my head.  The voice that knew I could make it, keep going, and finish talked much louder than last year.  The difference was audible in my head.  

When we hit the top of the hill, the Team in Training mission mile was there with pictures of all of those people we are running in honor of, in memory of, or in celebration of right there on the side of the road.  And familiar team faces waited at there too.  And again, I remember that I could do this--and it wasn't always about me.

Erica and I continued together through the Arboretum, out the other side and along 520 back towards the city.  Through these miles (about 9.5 to 11), I kept waiting for my body and mind to recover from that hill.  But right around mile 11, I realized that my body just wasn't recovering this time.  I was still breathing hard, my legs still felt like lead, and my mind started giving way, letting the whisper of a voice get a little louder.  

As we climbed another long, slow hill up to the I5 overpass in Eastlake, I suddenly felt the need to make a decision.  I let Erica slip ahead of me and slowed down a little bit.  But I still was getting my my breathing back and I still had 2 miles to go.  So I made a conscious choice.  I could struggle and fight and suffer my way through the miles, or I could walk, just for a short time and try to recover a little more.  Try to get my steam back and let myself push harder a little easier through the last miles.  I chose the latter.  I walked for what felt like to me about 2 minutes.  Looking back at my splits though, it couldn't have been more than 30-60 seconds, seeing as my slowest paced mile (mile 12) was only a 9:09 pace.  I obviously couldn't have walked that long.

As I walked, I ate a 3rd GU, focused on calming my breathing and resetting my brain.  By the time I got going again, I felt about 75% better.  Conclusion: walking isn't the end of the world.  Sometimes you just have to reset yourself and start over.  I need to remind myself of this every time I stop and walk and hate myself for it.

As I got going again, I knew there were still a few more little hills.  All I told myself was that I would run through the flats and try my best on the hills.  With each hill I hit in the last miles of the race, that nagging voice was there, pulling me back, wanting me to stop.  But the stronger voice said No.  I'd had my break, it's time to keep going now.  Even that last big hill on Mercer, just a 10th of a mile to the finish line, the hill that almost cost me my first sub-2 hour half marathon last year, that hill didn't break me.  I kept going.

After that final hill, there are about 700 flat yards to the finish line inside the stadium at Seattle Center.  In all of my races, those last 700 yards, as you enter the finish chute in cheering crowds with the finish line is sight, those last few seconds are when I push with everything I've got.  I spin my legs with all that they have left in them to cross that finish line and smile with arms raised for the camera.

But something weird happened in those 700 yards this time.  I tried to speed up, to spin my legs faster, harder, and stronger.  But I couldn't.  My brain wanted to make them go and get me there and end the final moment miseries of the race.  But I simply couldn't go any faster.  And that's when it hit me, right as I approached the finish line.  I had nothing left to give.  No strength left to push, no stamina left to carry me just a little faster.  I had left everything I had in me out on the course the day.  I didn't have an ounce of steam left in my body.  

This thought was the most rewarding thought as I crossed the finish line.  I had nothing left in me.  I had given everything to the race.  Erica even commented after I crossed the finish line and was making a mad dash for the port-a-potties that I looked a little green.  That's probably not something I should be proud of, but I am.

And so in the future, when I look back at the second time I ran the Seattle Half Marathon, I will remember my new first.  This is the first race I've run that I have literally left every ounce of myself on the course.  Retrospectively, in all my past marathons and half marathons I gave probably somewhere between 75%-95% of myself to the race.  I feel like I've always had a little left in me, which is maybe why I've always felt just a little disappointed in myself after all my races.  

But this race, on this day, I gave 100%.  Am I still a little bit upset that I walked?  Yes.  Do I still think that I could do better?  Of course.  But for today, for now, I can leave this race behind me knowing that I gave everything I had to give.  And came out with a PR that I thought I'd never achieve to top it all off.  

And it suddenly makes that sub-1:50 half marathon look absolutely achievable.  But I'll save that thought for the next one.

Those tired red eyes mean job well done.  Go us.