Holy shit, I ran a terrible half marathon this weekend! In fact, it was my slowest one ever that I wasn’t pacing. A new personal worst!
The whole weekend wasn’t terrible though. I’ll go back to Friday. I met Allison at her house, and we first drove to St. Michaels to pick up our race bibs and event T-shirts. Since we were in town anyway, we stopped at Gina’s for some margaritas and hummus. I don’t even like tequila, but Gina’s makes some really bangin’ margaritas. All the ingredients are fresh; it’s not just some mix out of a bottle.
We went back to Allison’s to walk her dog, and then we drove her Cabriolet convertible to Oxford, for the sailboat race.
Allison sails on a boat called the Black Pearl. It’s a shield, a small boat with no engine. There were other boats there for the race that were much larger, and had engines. Sort of like a golf handicap, the bigger, more powerful boats “owe” a certain number of seconds per mile to the smaller boats. When the race is over, the times are adjusted based on who owes who time, and the final results are calculated based on the adjusted times.
Anyway, also on the Black Pearl that night were Allison’s dad, Richard, and a guy named Henner and his 9-year-old son, Hayden. That was about as many people as could fit on that boat.
It’d been a warm day Friday, but Allison let me borrow a pair of waterproof pants, which I wore over my shorts. I also brought a waterproof jacket, “just in case.” I was really glad to have both of those articles of clothing when we got going!
The race started at the Oxford Yacht Club. It’s a different course every time, based on landmarks the boats have to sail to and around on a specified side. The course that night was the longest one possible, 6.7 miles.
Now, when Allison invited me to tag along for one of these sailboat races, I was picturing something along the lines of the sailing scenes from “Wedding Crashers,” probably because so many of those scenes were actually filmed in Oxford and St. Michaels.
So idyllic.
When we got rolling though, it was less “Wedding Crashers” and more “The Perfect Storm.”
We’re all gonna DIE!!
Haha ok, not really, but there was a lot more work that went into it than I imagined! Especially when we were sailing into the wind. The way they had the sails set to catch the wind, it was practically laying the boat on its side. The one side really was skimming along the water, while the five of us sat on top of the other side. I’ve only been on ski boats, and that’s not normal! No one else looked at all worried by the fact the boat was at a 90-degree angle, so I just hung on. We kept getting hit by water too, as waves crashed against the front of the boat. I was so glad to have the pants and jacket.
Everyone was making constant adjustments to different lines to optimize the wind’s power. There was a lot of jargon I didn’t understand, but I did figure out what it meant to “tack” or “jibe” – for me, it meant to make sure I didn’t get blasted in the head by the boom swinging across the boat as they moved the main sail from one side to the other! That was pretty much my only job the whole time we were out there, to stay out of everyone’s way.
After we’d finished the first leg of the race and turned so we were sailing with the wind at our backs, the boat leveled out and it was a lot smoother. That’s when we got the beers out, and that’s when I was able to get some pictures, since I could sit on a bench instead of clinging to the edge of the boat.
The Black Pearl’s main sail.
Boats ahead of us.
Boat behind us.
Allison and me with a couple of Bud tens.
It really was a gorgeous evening to be out there on the bay. I loved watching the other boats and trying to understand the sailing chatter going on around me, 90 percent of which was coming from Hayden. Man did that kid love to talk! His dad later said sometimes he has to play a game with Hayden called “Let’s just be quiet for 10 minutes” haha.
The race officials wound up cutting the course short to 5 miles due to the setting sun. After we’d crossed the finish line and were approaching the marina, they let me steer, just long enough to get a picture.
I’m so good at this!
From the dock, at sunset.
The Black Pearl wound up finishing third after the times were adjusted. After the race, we had dinner at the yacht club, where I had my first Dark and Stormy, a mixed drink with rum and ginger beer. It was really good!
Allison and I put the waterproof stuff back on for the drive back to her house in the Cabriolet, since she keeps the top down on it and it’d gotten chilly by that point. I was in bed around 10, and had no trouble falling asleep.
I woke up around 3 a.m for the first time because I had to pee. Unfortunately, I just could not get back to sleep to save my life after that. Every time I did start to drift off, I’d have one of those weird dreams I get when I’m not quite asleep, and jerk myself back awake. In one, I was about to get attacked by a mountain lion when I woke up! What the hell?
My alarm went off at 6. There was no question what to wear for the race that day – shorts and a sports bra, the bare minimum. It was supposed to already be 70 degrees with 80 percent humidity at the race start, and keep climbing from there. I had a feeling the warm weather would affect my race, especially since I haven’t really had a chance to get acclimated to it yet this year, but I had no idea it’d get as bad as it did.
Anyway, I had a bagel with peanut butter and some black coffee for breakfast, and I was able to clear out my digestive system before we left the house, which I hoped meant I wouldn’t have to worry about it during the race. Hahaha…
Allison and I each drove our own cars to St. Michaels. We hit the traffic backup five miles outside of town and crept along, hoping we’d make it before they closed that road in advance of the race start. It turned out we were the third and fourth cars in line when they closed the road and detoured us through some neighborhoods. So close!
We parked on a residential street not far from the race start at the elementary school. Even though the start got pushed back about 15 minutes, we only had time to stand in line for one last port-o-potty stop. I didn’t get in a warm up.
I eased myself into the starting corral well behind a sign that said “7-8 minute mile pace,” quite a ways back from the front. About five minutes before 8 a.m., we got the countdown and then the commands to go, and we were under way.
The first mile was a little crowded, but not bad. We ran down the main road through town, past all the cute little shops and restaurants. The Garmin beeped the end of the first mile just outside town – 8:01. For a few brief seconds, I thought I’d be able to maintain that pace the rest of the way and finish around 1:45.
Running through town in the first mile.
Well that didn’t even last another mile. I was trying to just run by feel because it was already getting uncomfortably warm, so I wasn’t paying any attention to the current pace on the Garmin, just looking at the splits whenever it’d beep another mile had passed. We finished the second mile as we ran into Harbourtowne – 8:16.
The course this year spent more time in Harbourtowne, a hoity toity golf community. There were a couple out-and-backs between miles 2 and 4.
I started a trend!
As I was approaching the first turnaround, I heard someone yell my name – it was Melissa, who I’d just met two weeks ago when we both paced the Ocean City half marathon. She has some damn good eyes to be able to pick out in a crowd of runners someone she’s only seen once before!
I made the turn and then we hit mile 3 – 8:12. We ran to another turnaround, and then we were at mile 4, which for me was an 8:15.
The next two miles followed a road that kind of ran along the outer edge of Harbourtowne. Miles 5 and 6 were 8:27 and 8:40. I was getting hot.
Just past the sixth mile, we hit another water stop, and I stopped to suck down the one GU I was carrying with me and then wash it down with water. We left Harbourtowne and ran back toward town. Mile 7 was 8:58.
Until this year, the course had turned right out of Harbourtowne and headed north along that main road before making a U-turn and going back to town. People complained about it because it was so boring and unshaded and just, ugh. So this year, that boring out-and-back along the main road was eliminated, and we turned left out of Harbourtowne, to go back to town and pick up the 10K course, which was more scenic.
It was a much nicer course, but it still sucked a little, because in the past, when we got back into town, we only had about a mile left, but this year, we had more than five miles to go.
I hit mile 8 in 8:57 and did not give one single crap that my pace was in danger of slipping over 9:00 miles. I was just so effing hot. My legs didn’t feel like they were working very hard, definitely not racing, but mentally, I was out of it.
Not long after I passed that mile marker, I saw Michael Wardian heading back toward the finish line, running in second place after having recently broken his own world record for the fastest 50K on a treadmill. (He ran 31 miles in 2:59:49 if you’re wondering.) I yelled something like “Nice job, Michael!” and he looked genuinely surprised someone recognized him. He blurted out a very polite “Why thank you!” haha.
Mile 9 was 9:00 on the nose. The course led us into another waterfront neighborhood, full of well-manicured lawns and not a single port-o-potty. Not the place you want to be when you feel a Code Abby rearing its ugly head.
There was a water stop right before mile 10. I scanned the area for a port-o-potty, but nope, nothing! I stopped for a few seconds to drink one cup of water, pour another over my head and try to quiet down my gurgling GI tract. I said something out loud about how awesome the water I’d poured on me felt, and a volunteer pointed over his shoulder and said “The river is right there!” Dude, don’t tempt me! I really wanted to go jump in for a minute.
But, I started plodding forward again. Mile 10 was 9:07. As we were leaving the neighborhood, the gut pangs cranked up to an 11. I could see a nice wooded area up ahead, but I had to make it there first without crapping my pants. I had to walk a couple times to keep from doing that, but I finally got to the woods and made a run for it.
The woods there were not full of underbrush like the ones where I run at home, and the trees were kinda spaced out too, so I had to run pretty far back into the woods until I felt like no one could see me. It was only after I was already in the middle of taking care of business that I looked over my shoulder and realized I wasn’t very far from someone’s yard haha. I got laughing to myself thinking about what the homeowner was thinking if they just happened to look out a window and spotted me crouched in the woods. Nasty ass runners!
I felt a lot better after that was done. I ran back out to the road and rejoined the race. Mile 11 was 10:57.
There was one last out-and-back after mile 11. I kept up a decent pace and ran mile 12 in 8:50. But not long after I passed mile 12, I suddenly felt really light-headed, and had to take a walk break. It was then that I heard “Abby!” and looked up to see Allison, on her way out toward the neighborhood I’d just come from.
She was walking too. We both stopped right there in the middle of the course and had a nice little chat about how shitty we felt and how we couldn’t wait until this shitty race was over!
I started running again. I had less than a mile to go at that point, but every step felt like such a chore, it might as well have been 15 miles. I just wanted to lie down somewhere nice and cool and shady. Running is dumb.
Somewhere near the end.
Mile 13 was 9:47. A couple more turns and I could see the finish line. I dragged myself across it in 1:57:25, more than three minutes slower than my first half marathon in Sept. 2009 which, up to that day, had also been my slowest.
I was so damn happy to be done running! I didn’t care about the finisher’s medal; I went straight for the table full of water bottles and then the misting fans. After I’d thoroughly soaked myself, I finally went looking for my medal.
I saw Melissa at the finish line, who had also just finished her slowest half marathon ever. Soon we were joined by another Ocean City pacer, Veronica, who had also run a personal worst. The only anomaly was Trent, yet another Ocean City pacer, who’d managed to run a new PR, because the only other half marathon he’d ever raced wasn’t really an official half.
O.C. pacers at the finish line — Trent, Melissa, me and Veronica. I’m only smiling because I’m so happy it’s over!
It turned out, every single runner I knew there ran a personal worst. It’s not that it was the hottest day I’ve ever ran a half marathon, but it was at the beginning of the summer, when I haven’t gotten used to it yet. It sucks to run a race on a hot day no matter what, but if you’re not acclimated, it feels 100 times harder than it does at the end of the summer, when you’re somewhat used to it.
And looking at the final results, my time was still in the top 15 percent of the entire field (229th out of 1,494 finishers) and in the top 10 percent of my age group (15th out of 146.)
It really made me feel better to know that so many other runners had such a bad day too. Misery really does love company, and there was plenty of misery to go around that day!
I started walking toward my car to change out of my soaking wet running clothes. It was a pretty long walk from the new finishing area. By the time I made it to the elementary school, I really had to poop again. Luckily, there were no lines for all those port-o-potties still there from the race start.
I felt better after I changed my clothes. For my money, there is no better feeling than taking off a soaking wet sports bra. TK claims taking off your socks after a run is a bigger relief, but I gotta go with the bra.
I moved my car closer to the finishing area and then found Allison, who’d also finished her personal worst half marathon by that time. We went to the runner’s village to get our free Bud Lights.
It turned out my digestive system was not done making its displeasure known, not by a long shot. I had to run to a port-o-potty three more times while we were hanging out in the runner’s village. The third time, I puked. I fucking puked. I have never puked during or after running. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I threw up, period. It tasted like Bud Light and the banana I’d eaten, which, I have to say, was an improvement on how the Bud Light had tasted going down.
The party’s over when I start puking. The runner’s village was pretty much shut down at that point anyway. I drove Allison back to her car and then I drove myself home. Luckily, I made it home without having to pull over to tend to my cranky digestive system again, but as soon as I got home, I had to go again. I didn’t puke anymore, but I was running for the bathroom just about every half hour for the next several hours, and lying in bed with my stomach in knots in between. It was absolutely miserable. Fuck you, heat.
Around 5 p.m., I finally felt like I could stand upright without shitting myself long enough to take a shower. Clark and I had made plans earlier in the week to go out with Mike and his new girlfriend. I was obviously a little worried, based on the previous seven hours, but it turned out the storm had in fact passed and I felt fine the rest of the night.
We went to the pub in Denton, had dinner and watched Denny Hamlin win the All-Star race. It was 2 a.m. when Clark and I finally got home. I was beat.
So it was late and already hot again when we got out of bed Sunday morning. Around 3 p.m., Clark and I decided to go for a run together around the 4.5-mile loop, which meant Pepper had to go too. It was in the upper 80s at that point. Even though we took a long walk break after every mile, Pepper was hurting. When we got home, the poor guy gulped down so much water he promptly threw it right back up on the living room carpet. Clark was the only resident of our house who didn’t puke this weekend because of running in the heat.
Unfortunately for Pepper, Clark and I then had to leave him home all by himself while we went to Annapolis with Clark’s family to celebrate his brother’s birthday. We had a very nice dinner, but when we got home we found more dog puke in the utility room, this time mixed with mostly-digested dog food. Shop vac to the rescue! We promised Pepper we’d never make him run in the middle of the afternoon on such a hot day again. I feel like a bit of an asshole for doing that.
This morning, I didn’t run, but I did go upstairs and do some strength training.
And now it’s time for the summer series, which begins this coming Sunday with the Masser 5-Miler in Lewes. I’m not racing anything longer than that until the fall!
A Simple Running Log 