Races

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One of my marathon-training traditions is racing a half marathon four to six weeks out to see how things are coming along. I look for a low-key local race that doesn’t involve much hoopla, like driving longer than an hour to get there, staying at a hotel overnight, or having to wake up at 4 a.m. to make it to the start on time. (If no half marathons meet this criteria, a 10K would do, too. Last year, I used a 10K as my tune-up race for the Santa Rosa Marathon.)

In my Boston Marathon training cycle, I picked a local half marathon put up by Brazen Racing. The Hellyer Half Marathon fit the bill perfectly: a small race less than 20 minutes from where I live, with an 8:30 a.m. start, a fun atmosphere and what I thought was a thoroughly flat course. (The key words being “what I thought” — more about this in a bit.)

Brazen races are always a fun experience, by the way, and I highly recommend them. The food spread at the finish is amazing. If you’re a San Francisco Bay Area runner and haven’t tried them yet, go check them out.

Race goals and strategy

My main goal for this half was to run it as fast as I can. Obviously, I wanted to PR. (That meant running faster than 1:42:12, my PR from the Livermore Half in 2015.) What is more, I was really hoping to get under 1:40. My Boston Marathon training has been going well and, with running nearly 60 miles a week, I thought it was realistic.

I ran the Hellyer Half in 2012 with little, if any training at all. The race was on March 3, and my running log shows I did a total of seven runs in all of February. My time was something like 2:10 — and back then I was an around-2-hour half marathoner, so you can tell I wasn’t prepared.

But I remembered the course well: a flat out-and-back, the first half going up ever so slightly — then coming down after the turnaround. And when I say “slightly” I really mean a tiny little bit: something like 60 feet total over 6.5 miles. Practically flat.

So my pacing strategy for this year’s showing was to go fast right from the start, push the pace for the first half, and then cruise after the turnaround. At best, I would be able to take advantage of the slight incline and push the pace even more — at worst, I’d try to hang on to an aggressive pace for as long as I could.

What actually happened:

Race day

Race morning was freezing. I arrived about 40 minutes before the start, picked up my bib and ran back to the car to keep warm. I sat there until something like 15 minutes to start, when I finally braved the cold to meet up with a couple of friends and get in a short warm-up. Managed a half mile at a brisk pace (8:30 or so), and that was it. Headed to the start, lined up very near the front and as soon as the gun sounded about three minutes later, I took off at a fast pace.

The start was different this year and the race director said something about a new course — but yet again, I thought the change was minimal and surely, we would head out to my familiar straight-line flat and fast course in no time.

I ran mile 1 in 7:27 and mile 2 in 7:34. The pace felt faster than I would normally start off a half marathon with, but I felt OK. I was even able to sing along with the songs in my earbuds (sorry, everyone…), which means I wasn’t out of breath.

Then things got harder than I thought they should. All these little bumps were showing up under my feet. I wouldn’t call them “hills” really, but very short, yet constant, up-and-downs. I think we were running along a golf course, so imagine the little hills those places usually have.

What the what was going on? Mile 3 pace: 7:48.

I picked up the pace again for miles 4 and 5 (7:26, 7:32), but by now it had become clear to me that this course was absolutely different from what it used to be. I had no idea where it would take me, whether I’d need to adjust pace for hills, when we would turn around — I knew nothing.

I like to start a race prepared (that’s soft-speak for “I study the elevation charts obsessively”, by the way), so not knowing what’s coming messed with my head in a big way.

By mile 6 (7:36) I knew that I couldn’t sustain my ridiculous 7:30 pace for the rest of the race. We had just done a turn-around and I got reacquainted with the nasty little bumps along the golf course again. Mile 7 was 7:41.

Somewhere between miles 7 and 8, I think, we ran by the 10K turnaround and the course got more crowded — but nothing unmanageable. I actually prefer to have more runners on the course, so I can mentally latch onto people and try to pass them. Among the half marathoners alone, the field had spread out quite a bit and other than leapfrogging with a couple of guys and gals, I didn’t have much company.

But I still had my toughest miles ahead. Mile 8 was the worst. I remember running as hard as I could, then looking at my watch and seeing an 8:XX pace and not knowing what the fudge was going on. Why couldn’t I pick it up? I was so ready for this stupid race to end. I knew I had paced it wrong, and I knew it was all my fault, and I was simply mad at myself.

I ended up running Mile 8 in 7:57 (this is all by my Garmin, mind you, which tracked the whole race at 13 miles – not 13.1 – so who knows what I was really running).

Miles 9, 10 and 11 were not much better. I was running with a gigantic question mark of doubt on top of my head. How bad would things go in the next minutes? I was seeing paces at 7:4X (to be precise: 7:42, 7:49, and 7:46), and I knew it was not good enough: the average pace for a sub-1:40 would need to be in the 7:3X range.

I was constantly telling myself – I think out loud every now and then? – “Focus. Focus. Focus. Focus.” Forget the inspirational mantras, this was all the energy my brain could spare.

I passed a kid that couldn’t have been more than 10, and he picked up the pace trying to stay with me. I asked him if he’s doing the 5K or the 10K, and he said the 10K. Duly impressed, I said something like “Yeah, kid, good job! High five!” – and we tried to high five but our hands didn’t meet. Luckily, it’s a running race and not synchronized swimming, and nobody saw – so we carried on, each at our own pace.

With about 1.5 miles to go, we did one last turnaround to head towards the finish. I saw my coach for the second time (I honestly don’t remember at what point in the race I saw him first, I think mile 7 or 8). He was saying something and I could hear words, but not process them.

Mile 12 was 7:50. I didn’t think if I’d be able to finish in under 1:40 at that point, but I saw a woman running maybe 100 feet in front of me and with one last surge I passed her just before we made the very last right turn into the final stretch. I saw 1:39:xx on the clock and sprinted…

To an official time of 1:40:09. Well. It’s a 2-minute PR and I’m very far from complaining about it. I also ended up placing 6th female (the initial results had me as 5th) and 2nd in my age group. I’m happy with that! But I’m disappointed at myself for not checking out the course maps in advance and, as a result, pacing myself badly. Honestly, if I had run the exact same time, but with negative splits, I would have been thrilled.

I celebrated with a few friends at the finish (FYI, if you aren’t familiar with Brazen Races, they do have It’s It ice cream for finishers!) and chatted with my coach a bit to share what a terrible pacing job I’d done. As any good coach, he found a way to spin it into a 100% positive light: I did learn valuable mental coping skills, hanging on to a good pace in a tougher situation than expected.

Then, I had to skedaddle in a hurry to take KidRuns to the first of several weekend activities we had lined up for the day. Life of a running mom… I am so grateful for venti Starbucks caramel macchiatos with their 3,750 grams of sugar and 52,000 calories.

For my next half marathon PR (and sub-1:40) attempt, I think I’ll sign up for the San Jose Rock’n’Roll Half, which I have run three times and know for a fact is flat as a pancake. I will study the elevation charts, regardless.

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It’s almost Christmas and I just drove over to the offices of the Silicon Valley Leadership Group to pick up my Turkey Trot medal… so I figure it’s about time I wrote a few words about it.

Many weeks ago, I decided on a whim to run the Silicon Valley Turkey Trot 5K. Well, it wasn’t really a “whim,” a friend talked me into it. I was in an offseason, going on six weeks. And I didn’t decide to “run” it, I decided to “race” it. Or, like I told my training buddies, I was going to smash myself.

Jumping into a 5K with six extra pounds of offseason weight (OK, eight, but who’s counting?) and with what would be three weeks of training is not the smartest idea. I went from doing a few leisurely runs a week to doing a few hard runs a week. Every run was either a track workout, a tempo run or a tough, hilly long run on the trails (those were the easiest, and that’s saying something).

In short, I knew I had gone “soft” in muscle and in spirit, and needed to remind my body what it feels like to suffer. Because the truth is, in a 5K you do nothing but suffer. If it’s your first 5K, you suffer. If it’s your second 5K and you’re trying to improve your time, you suffer. If you’re trying to podium… you suffer.

By Thanksgiving, I was ready to suffer.

I parked by a friend’s house and ran the 1.5 miles to the start; then we went over to packet pickup and back — and by the time the start gun went off, I had already logged about 3 miles of running and walking. This was actually just right: if you’re going to make yourself suffer, you need a proper warmup, especially on a chilly morning.

Speaking of the race start: I was nervous about that, because the SVTT is the largest Turkey Trot in the country, with 30,000 runners. The crowds were insane! So, I lined up with the first wave and stood about two rows back from the runners at the very front.

Now, those are pretty darn fast runners (count the number of 16-min finishes among the top race results and you’ll see what I mean) and I felt totally out of place. But the sign for our wave did say 7:00 min-mile or faster, and I was hoping to run that pace, so there you go.

My 5K PR at that point was 21:55, which I ran this summer while on vacation in my home town. It was a hot, humid day, the route had a quarter-mile section with a slight incline at the start/ finish, and the overall distance that may or may not have been a wee bit short. It wasn’t a certified, timed race, just a free 5K run part of the ParkRun series that are becoming ever so popular in Europe and even here. In other words, I was hopeful that, with better weather and a completely flat course, I’d be able to improve that time by at least a measly second.

Then the gun went off and whoosh! I darted off with the crowd and in my hurry, fumbled with my Garmin, only later realizing that I had not, in fact, started it. How much time had I not marked on my watch: five seconds? fifteen? twenty? I didn’t know! That messed with my head immediately, since now I had no clue how far I was (from the finish) and, most importantly, was I going to PR or not?

Isn’t it ridiculous how dependent we’ve grown on our multiple devices? How did runners twenty years ago pace themselves without GPS watches?

I will spare you the mile-by-mile details, they all felt miserable. I did wonder for the first mile and a half if I should try to go just a bit faster and see if I can hold on to the pace until the end. But as I crossed the finish line grunting, squeezing my right side and immediately bending over to calm down the nasty stitch I’d had for the past half mile, I knew I could not. I could not have gone faster. As hundreds of runners filed by, I stood by a trash can just past the finish line for minutes on end, wondering if I’d throw up or not.

I didn’t, so that was a win. I also didn’t know whether I got my PR – and I wouldn’t know for hours on end. Seriously, though: it’s one thing to suffer physically for 20-some minutes, but checking the race results page surreptitiously every 10 minutes during Thanksgiving dinner… that’s a whole other struggle.

When you started your Garmin some 10 or more(?) seconds late and you still don't know if you PRed the 5K or not #muchtobethankfulfor

A photo posted by Aleks Todorova (@aleksruns) on Nov 26, 2015 at 12:19pm PST

The race results did show up at 7 pm that evening, and I found out I had run exactly 21:55. No PR, not even by a second. But I was OK with that, because I went in this race to smash myself – and I did. I’ll always wonder if, had I known my exact seconds of running time with a properly-started GPS, I would have pushed myself just a little bit harder in that final stretch. Maybe next year, I’ll find out.

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What better way to end triathlon season than with a fun celebration of girl power, friendship and accomplishment?

This is what the See Jane Run Triathlon has meant to me for the past three years. (My race recaps for 2014 and 2013 are here and here). Every year, I come back to this race with three goals:

1. Go fast.
2. Do my best.
3. Have fun!

The See Jane Run Tri did not disappoint this year and I checked all three off my list!

The beautiful sunrise greeted us as we rolled our bikes into the transition area at Shadow Cliffs Regional Park:

I got my race packet with no hassles whatsoever (race-day pickup is the best, isn’t it?), racked my bike, got body marked, went to the bathroom a few times (a real bathroom, not a porta-potty: another valuable perk. Check!) — and met up with a few ladies from our San Jose Moms Run This Town group, some of whom were here for their first tri!

I overheard at least a couple other conversations among women there to tri their first, and one lady I chatted with mentioned how impressed she was by all the different ages marked at each woman’s leg: from 12 to 72! (Did you know, by the way, that See Jane Run offers free race registration to any woman who is 70 and older? How cool is that?!)

That is the best part of this race: so many women in one place, all celebrating friendship and excited about a fun morning ahead. There is none of the nervous energy or the “bro-talk” you might overhear at an Ironman event (“Yeah, man, I swam 5,000 yards in the pool the other day at 1:20 [minutes per 100 yards], went for a three-hour ride and a five-mile run.” – We get it, dude, you trained.)

But I digress. Back to the race! I had gotten here with at least an hour and a half to spare, but time flew! I headed out to the beach a few minutes before the official race start, what felt like mere minutes after arriving.
 

The swim

I admit, I was anxious about the quality of the water. For one, I saw quite a few sizable piles of goose poop on that beach! (Seriously, what are these geese eating? How big are they?) And it has been months – years! – since we’ve had proper rain in the San Francisco Bay Area. How low would the water be? How murky?

It turned out to be perfectly fine. The water was clear and I already knew to expect the thick plant growth on the lake bottom, very visible and even touchable as you begin swimming. Not to mention, it was at least a few degrees warmer than the air. In short: the race conditions were just right.

This was a “shallow water” start of sorts — we lined up about knee-deep and started running in as soon as we heard the start signal for our wave. The water level was higher than last year, but still pretty low – we had to “run” a bit to get to a swimmable depth. I jumped in as soon as I could and started pushing water like my life depended on it.

I’m not sure what exactly happened and why, but for the first time in a race, I actually felt strong in the water. Like I was propelling myself forward faster than usual. (Was it the beans I ate for dinner the night before, as some friends kindly suggested? Ha!)

I got to the first buoy fairly quickly, with only one “detour” — I didn’t sight all that much because the course is short – just 400 yards — there are no waves or currents, and I thought I was swimming in a straight line. Well, I wasn’t that straight, but I don’t think I lost more than 20-30 seconds repositioning. A second turn on the second buoy and we were swimming to shore.

The Swim Out timing mat was at the corner of the parking lot/ Transition area, so swim times included the short trek over. Then again, so did last year’s swim — and the top five women (some of whom were the same as this year, in the end) all swam at least a minute or two faster. So my best guess is that either last year the swim course was shorter than the prescribed 400 yards, or this year it was longer.

Swim time: 9:04
T1 time: 0:55
 

The Bike

Out of Transition quickly and onto the bike. For at least 30 seconds on the Mount line, I had trouble clipping in my left shoe. It was so frustrating! First try, second, third, fourth: my clip kept sliding out and, of course, the more annoyed you get, the harder it becomes. Finally, I was safely attached to my bike and pedaling.

The next 11.1 miles were a breeze! Well, not really. It wasn’t easy, I had to make up lots of time, relatively speaking, that I lost on the swim — not just compared to the other gals in my age group, but everyone else. The bike course was already crowded by the time I got started.

The course has only one moderately tough climb to get over, but also a long, straight flat stretch of a couple of miles in the beginning, which makes it pretty great for picking up speed quickly.

And so I did, only getting held up a couple of times behind slower bikes in one very narrow stretch of marked-off course. I would normally try to pass – safely – even on the outside of the cones if there are no cars or other bikes around, but in this case, our route went against traffic (we were on the left side of the road) and there was a long line of cars merely a few feet to our right. I remembered this section well from last year: not my favorite, but we were through it quickly.

I rolled back into transition with somewhat tired legs. The course might’ve been short, but when you push yourself to go fast… well, you may end up paying for it on the run!

Bike time: 34:40
T2 time: 1:27
 

The Run

I changed shoes and headed out on the run quickly, except I ran to the wrong exit and had to pivot, run in between a couple of bike racks and then head onto the correct run course. (Then I did one more wrong turn, but was quickly “repositioned” by a volunteer. Really hoping next year there are clear markings for run out and the start of the run course!)

I started out, as I suspected, on very, very tired legs. Basically, my legs were shot. I felt the ride, I felt the Santa Rosa Marathon barely a month in the past, I felt the 200-plus-mile months that preceded it… This was going to be my last race of the season, and I was quite ready and eager for it to end.

I was running my very best, wheezing and pushing, and trying so hard… and my Garmin was showing a 7:30-minute/ mile pace. I know I can run better than that, I have run better than that — only in March this year, I ran faster for the last 10 miles of the Livermore Half Marathon! But today was not the day I could pull it off.

So I just settled into doing the best I could, and wheezed my way through 3.1 of the most grueling miles I’ve had to run in recent history. Everything hurt – lungs, legs, feet – and the trail surface (the race is almost exclusively on fire roads that have little rocks) – felt punishing, not forgiving.

Finally – FINALLY – I could hear the music, crowd cheering and race announcer and rushed to the Finish. The best finish ever, for so many reasons, but not least because:

a) I saw my family had come to see me cross, after all! (I left so early in the morning, most everyone was still sleeping.)
b) I officially crossed the line into a now long-awaited offseason (HURRAY!), and
c) It turned out I was the 3rd woman overall. High fives all around!

Run time: 23:45
Total time: 1:09:53

ALL of this training, racing and all those PRs this year, and I managed to improve my See Jane Run course time by five whopping seconds. Well, I’ll take it!

See you next year, Janes!

A photo posted by Aleks Todorova (@aleksruns) on Sep 27, 2015 at 11:33am PDT

Disclaimer: I am a race ambassador for See Jane Run. As such, I get free entry to the race for myself, as well as one free entry to give away to a blog reader. For everyone else, I have a discount code – SJRAMB236 – good for 25% off any event, or 10% off any purchase from their online store. (You can use this through the end of 2015 on purchases; for 2016 – come back later for a fresh discount code. I get no commission or referral fees — just the satisfaction of knowing I have introduced yet another powerful woman to a wonderful event and the amazing sport of triathlon!)