The Runner Formerly Known As Emily

In an attempt to be more like Prince (because who doesn't want to be like this? *rolling eyes*), I have decided to give up my real name and take on the more mysterious moniker, Unknown Runner. I'm not doing it for the attention. I'm actually just trying to get out of my Nike sponsorship contract through a loophole. True story.

Okay, okay. You figured me out. I don't have a Nike sponsorship. I realize that comes as a bit of a shock to many of you.

The truth is, I became Unknown Runner not by choice, but because of a mistake. Let me take you back in time to Wednesday... *Begin dreamy music and dramatic fade out*

It was just like any other ordinary Wednesday, except that after lunch, I made a quick side trip to pick up my race packet for the Main Street Mile. When I arrived at the packet pickup, I noted that the person handling packet pickup was a teenage boy. That, in itself, is not a warning sign. There are plenty of teenage boys who could handle the task of coordinating a packet pickup for a small race. Unfortunately, this boy was not one of them. Here's how the conversation went. I swear on Prefontaine's grave, I am NOT embellishing.

Me: I need to pick up my race packet. Last name *****.
Boy: Okay. *shuffles through a box and pulls out a bag with my name on it*
Now, let me get your bib and chip here. Let's see... you have number 208.... *flips through bibs which are perfectly in sequence: 205, 206, 207, 209, 210... there's no 208*
Well that's weird. 208 isn't here. Let me check the chips. *flips through the chips and there is no 208* Huh. We don't have your number here. *shrugs*
Me: Okay, so what happens now? Can you give me a new number?
Boy: Ummmmmmm....
Me: *blink blink blink*
Boy: Yes! Here's a bib in the 300's. *hands me bib 307*
Me: Okay, so I need a chip too.
Boy: Oh. Well, we don't have any chips over 300.
Me: Well, I'm not going to run the race and not get a time.
Boy: Right. Ummmm...
Me: If someone came in right now to register, what would you do? Don't you have bibs and chips set aside for last-minute registrants? Can I just have one of those?
Boy: Ummmmmm.....
Me: *taking deep, calming breaths and counting slowly to 10*
Boy: Oh, hey! Wait! I have some bibs and chips in the 100's that we can use!
Me: Oh, thank God!
Boy: Here, number 107. You'll be special because everyone else will be in the 200's.
Me: Well, I do like to be different. So, don't you need to change the number you have for me in your computer there?
Boy: Ummmmm.... Oh. Yeah. Sure. *hits a few keys on the keyboard*
Me: Okay then. So we're all set?
Boy: Uhhh, yeah.

As you can imagine, I left packet pickup not feeling very confident about getting an official result for this race.

Fast-forward to race time (Thursday evening). I was excited, anxious, and nervous - I had never run a one-mile race before, and I wondered if I could break 7:30. It was awfully hot and humid, so I was doubting myself a bit. This race is run in two waves. The "slow wave" goes first, and when all of those people finish, the "elite wave" starts. This seems backwards, but it's actually a nice setup because all the slower-pace runners and walkers get to watch the super-fast runners finish, which is really cool. I was assigned to the slow wave, which was a-ok by me. I had no desire to run with [get trampled by] the big dogs. Instead, I got to run with some of my most favorite FASTies, Louisa, Cathy and Marge. And hey, look - there they are toeing the line!


When the race finally started, I reined in my pace as several people rushed out ahead. A mile may sound short, but when you're running hard, it feels like an eternity. Better to save some energy for later. By the time I reached the top of the big downhill, I had already passed several people, and I wasn't even halfway.

I had feared the big downhill, repeatedly picturing myself tripping, rolling into a ball, and tumbling all the way down (which may have actually been faster than running, but almost certainly more painful). In actuality, the big downhill was not the scary monster I had imagined. I flew down it as if my feet had grown wings. I felt light, easy, and most importantly, fast. At the bottom of the hill was the 800m mark. They had a race clock set up there and I glanced at it quickly and saw 3:07. Interesting. I was on pace to run a 6:14 mile. Of course, I knew that wasn't actually going to happen, as the course flattened out a bit and I lost some of my speed.

People sometimes think I'm crazy (okay, people often think I'm crazy, but let's stick to the subject at hand, shall we?) because I would rather run a half-marathon or marathon than a 5k or shorter race. But the fact is, short distances hurt. They hurt a lot. People say that running a marathon is largely mental, but I think the same is true of the shorter distances. Every fiber of my body wanted to slow down, walk, or stop, and my lungs burned. But I had to keep going. I kept telling myself "It only hurts for a few minutes." And also "Don't let anyone pass you!"

As the finish line came into view, I pushed harder. I think people were cheering on the sides of the road, but I really didn't hear them. I could see four or five runners ahead of me. Only one of them was female. Unless something catastrophic happened, I would be one of the top three women. Fifty yards to go and I could make out the finish line clock. 6:53... 6:54... I gave it all I had and just before I crossed the finish, I saw that the clock read 7:02. That was much faster than I had anticipated, so I was pretty darn pleased. I celebrated my victory with my friends, many of whom also set PR's.

Fast forward to later the same evening. The results had been posted online, and fellow FASTie, Niki, texted me to let me know. She warned, "You're not going to be happy about it." I pulled up the results and here is what I saw:
See Number 6? Unknown Runner. That's me. The Runner Formerly Known As Emily. I can't say I was really surprised, after what happened at packet pickup. But when I pulled up the awards listing and saw that I did not get the 2nd place status I deserved, I was pretty unhappy. You see, Unknown Runner is sexless (no smart-ass comments from you all!), and therefore can't get credit for being the 2nd place female.

So I did what anyone in my running shoes would have done: I complained. I've been told that the appropriate powers have been notified of the error and asked to change the results and the awards listing. I'm still waiting for that to happen.

Meanwhile, I'm basking in the glory of my one mile PR. Yes, it was downhill, which really really helped. But other people don't have to know that! So shhhhhhhh! It'll be our little secret. The run graph is below, and you can see the wonderful elevation plot (the green line).


My pace, interestingly enough, didn't seem to get any faster on the big downhill. I suspect that since I started out a wee bit too fast, I held back my pace on the big downhill in order to recover a little bit. This was completely subconscious, and for that I give a huge kudos to my runner's brain. It left me with enough energy for a final kick.

With a finish time in the low 7:00's, naturally I'm now wondering if I can run a sub-7:00 mile. Well, I don't know if I can, but I bet Unknown Runner can...

Peace. Love. Train.

You all know and love the FASTies...

Now, allow me to introduce... The Stashies. That's what I'm going to call them, at least. They call themselves Stash's Summer Marathon Training Group. This is much too long of a name for my taste - I could run a mile and a half in the time it takes to say all that. Okay, okay, so that's a slight exaggeration. Nevertheless, it's a pretty lengthy name. So I am renaming them The Stashies. I hope they don't mind.

Let me tell you a bit about the Stashies, and why I joined them.

First of all, I need to make it perfectly clear that this group does not replace FAST. Nothing could ever replace FAST. (And I'm hoping that by saying that, the coaches will go easy on me in our first group run of the new season on Tuesday. *bats eyelashes at the coaches*)

But when one is training for a marathon, one really would like a bit of company on those long runs. One would also like water and Gatorade placed at regular intervals along the route so one does not have to wear one's annoying water bottle holder belt. One would also like the security and peace of mind that comes with knowing someone is out there making sure one gets through one's run okay. And in case it wasn't immediately obvious, one would be me.

Enter the Stashies.

Led by Frank and Kris Stash for many, many years, this group has long run logistics down to a science. All of the running routes are planned out before training starts, and every route is different, so there's quite a bit of variety. There are water stops along each route, and there's even a sag wagon that drives around and picks up runners who are injured, exhausted, etc. The faster runners stick around to high five the slower runners (like me) as they finish. Just like FAST, they are truly a team.

Several of my fellow FASTies are also Stashies (and I actually learned about the Stashies from fellow FASTies, Louisa and Cathy), which has made being a Stashie newbie a lot easier. It's nice to see familiar faces there. Although I'm enjoying getting to know the other Stashies as well. There are some really incredible athletes in this group. Lots of marathoners, yes, but also triathletes. I asked one woman if she was also training for Chicago, and she replied that she's actually training for an Ironman event. *clears throat and acts casual* Oh yeah, me too. *sucks in gut and flexes biceps* I'm going to start training for my 26th Ironman after I finish the Tour de France. True story.

Okay, okay, I've never done an Ironman. And it's possible I've embellished slightly about the Tour de France. Slightly. *quickly changes subject*

So, after I finished my long run with the Stashies on Sunday, we were all standing around and chatting for a bit while getting rehydrated and doing some stretching. The discussion turned to my blog. Some of the Stashies have already discovered it, apparently. Well, I guess I'll have to stop writing mean things about them now.

Just kidding!

I'm not going to stop writing mean things about the Stashies just because they're reading it now.

Kidding again! Really!

I never speak ill of my fellow runners. I may tell funny or mildly embarrassing stories about them, but never anything mean. So relax, Stashies. And please don't kick me out of your group. *begs*

Now, let's talk about the actual run. I really enjoyed this route, and not just because I didn't trip and fall this time. It was a nice loop, with lots of varied scenery and some rolling hills. I felt strong during this run. It was warm, and a little humid, but not as bad as last weekend. Consequently, I ran faster this run, even though the route was hillier. I probably was running a bit too fast in the last 4 miles, but a lot of really good songs were coming up on my iPod and I was in the groove. One thing I have learned over the years is that you should never mess with the groove.

Run graph - click to see it larger.

I'm very much looking forward to next weekend's run with the Stashies. We've got 12 miles planned, which gives me over 2 hours to ponder my next Stashie-related blog post. *rubs hands together evilly*

Peace. Love. Train.

WWCBD?

What Would Coach Brad/Bekah Do? This past week, I had to ask myself that very question when I was presented with the opportunity to be pseudo-coach to some of my fellow FASTies.

You see, spring FAST ended last week, and the next season doesn't start until next week... which meant this week was FAST-free. Naturally, several of us were exhibiting symptoms of severe FAST withdrawal: strong urges to run 400m repeats around our office buildings, feelings of despair when faced with the prospect of running alone, nightmarathons, and wearing running shoes everywhere (including to work, to bed, and in the shower). Going through the detox process would have been too difficult, so we opted to feed our addiction by running together on the usual FAST nights.

Since we didn't have any leadership, we felt a bit lost at first. That's when I asked myself WWCBD? And then the answer was clear:

I had to make them suffer.

After an easy 2 miles, I stopped my fellow FASTies and told them it was time to step it up. Our real coaches wouldn't want us to be out here doing easy-breezy stuff on days we would normally be pushing our limits. No sir. We needed to work.

"Here's what we're gonna do," I said. "We're gonna run from here, to the end of this straight section of road, fast. Then we'll rest a minute or two, turn around and come back fast." The straight section of road was about 1/4-mile long. I realized that I was going kind of easy on them, only making them run two 1/4-mile repeats, but I would make up for it later. Heh heh heh...

So, as we were running back to our starting point, I noticed there were a few hills coming up. Ahhh, a perfect opportunity to insert some more suffering. I sprinted up the first hill. My friends followed suit. I didn't even have to tell them to. As Louisa crested the hill, she said to me "Monkey see, monkey do!" Oh, this was much too easy! I did the same thing for the next hill, and they once again followed suit.

Now I understand why our coaches enjoy coaching so much! Having other people do what you tell them is pretty cool. And of course there are the long-term rewards of watching your proteges succeed and prosper. I'm sure my two days of pretending to be coach didn't make any difference in my friends' running performances, but perhaps they at least got a decent workout from it. And, more importantly, of course, they fed their FAST addiction. Because, honestly, those withdrawal symptoms were really getting annoying. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go mow my lawn in the shape of a 400m track so I can do some repeats...