|ACTUAL FINISH LINE FOOTAGE|
I pretty much run only a single 10K distance per year, and it's the Lawyers Have Heart 10K in DC.
I'm running the "Lawyers Have Heart" 10K this morning, which is kinda like naming a race "Surgeons Have Shaky Hands."
— Tai Fung (@tai_fung) June 8, 2013
I've run this race a lot, and I'm actually quite a fan of the course, which can be a little tough (some hills here and there, as well as exposure to the sun for good stretches, not often fun during June in DC). As is my custom, here's an elevation map of the Lawyers Have Heart Course:
|Lawyers Have Heart 10K course elevation|
What I'm not a fan of, however, is poor race logistics, and this race was LOADED with fail on that front. I know they're trying to raise money, I get that. But at some point, you owe it to the racers to actually be, you know, competent and not overwhelmed.
For the race this year, I wasn't sure if I would run it, and signed up late. But, I was indeed registered. I know this because the organizers charged my card, and spammed me plenty, asking me to raise money to stamp out heart disease, and otherwise enter various contests (read: spend more money). I chalked it up to fundraising, and let the spam just . . . be.
The race starts/ends in Georgetown, and getting there is a snap from Capitol Hill. You just have to take a REALLY early morning bus, which winds its way across DC to Georgetown. I caught one, and arrived at what I thought was a good early time for packet pickup. I figured I'd get my packet, t-shirt, goodie bag, go check it with bag drop, and head off to PR.
Instead I found two of the most epic lines I've EVER seen. They were BARELY lines. They were more piles of angry lawyers wondering WHAT THE FUCK:
|LOL at the "Packet Pick-Up" sign over there on the left.|
I got in the longer one, which was for the 10K. They wanted you to have your bib number. Fine, so I went to their printouts to get whatever number I was assigned.
Uh oh. I wasn't listed.
Meanwhile, the lines weren't just moving SLOW, they were basically immobile. I've been to long packet pickups before, how could this be taking so long?
It turns out that they were accepting NEW registrations at the same time, intermixed with the packet pickups.
Oh, and then they RAN OUT OF FUCKING SAFETY PINS. Not kidding. This picture is of people using clear packing tape to affix their bibs to their shirts. It worked about as well as you'd expect, based on the number of bibs I saw lying in the street as I ran.
|Bad idea level: MAX.|
Finally, I got up to the table, and gave my name. They checked multiple printouts -- nothing. According to their records, I wasn't registered.
Luckily, I had my phone with me. I showed them the confirmation e-mail.
A woman then thrust a waiver form at me, handed me a bib, and had me fill it out as a new, "comped" registration (again, not really since they already had my money). I guess I'm glad it took as long as it did -- during the delay, somebody showed up with a box of safety pins, and I got some.
After this shit show, I grabbed the "goodie" bag (I didn't have time to go to the t-shirt table, but I'll live), and just RAN to bag check.
The 5K had already started. Suffice it to say I was losing my MIND at this point. Pissing off a bunch of Type-A lawyers is NOT putting your best organizational foot forward:
At this point, all I needed to do, during the delay between the 5K and 10K . . . was pee. The lines for the port-a-johns were (surprise!) quite epic. Now what?
Well, I WAS at the Georgetown waterfront. So I just sauntered over towards the woods along the river and . . . wait! There's a solitary portajohn! Right there! Hmm, it's got a velvet rope around it. And a woman with a clipboard. There were MINUTES until the start, and nobody in line for this potty. It was far away from the start line. Yet, I watched a guy approach her, and get rejected like he was selling dildos at a celibacy convention.
So much for THAT. So off to the riverbank I went. I brushed through some vines, which clung to my ankles and shins (they actually kind clung around my leg, which was good, because I almost slid into the Potomac). Finding a (discrete) spot, I did my thing.
[NOTE: DON'T FORGET TO READ UNTIL THE END OF THIS ENTRY RE: THIS PART]
I scrambled over to the start line, climbed over a pallet of water, and managed to get into the 10K corral before the start. I was shaking, and plenty angry. Flustered doesn't describe it.
I took just a moment to put my hands on my hips, look down at the ground, and remember my race plan. Yes, I really had a race plan, if I could just get past being so angry to think about it.
In fact, I had a plan from this race from the beginning. A sub-50 minute 10K requires roughly an 8:03 pace per mile. I figured that, if possible, I could hold myself close to that pace for the first 3 miles, pick up speed, "rest" myself from mile 4-5, letting back just a bit, and then pour on everything from 5 until the 6.2 mark. With luck, my kick would drive me just over the line before the clock moved from 49:59 to 50:00.
I had just enough time to ensure my Garmin was active and tracking me when
BANG - off we went.
And I went off.
Mile 0-1: 8:05
Normally, my first mile might be a little on the slower side as I navigate traffic. But I had far too much adrenaline, and was still plenty angry over the clusterfuck at the start that I just kind of zoomed (for me) my way through the course, charging up the opening hill, turning up and running up the ramp, and proceeding on. I hit the mile marker, and thought I should let up, just a bit, because the plan was to try and really aim for negative splits in this race.
Mile 1-2: 8:16
Ok, maybe I let up a little TOO much here. I think I did. I tried to calm myself from the opening salvo, and focused on sticking to The Plan. I needed to make up a LITTLE bit of time, because I wanted to come in just a couple of seconds past 8 minutes per mile.
Mile 2-3: 7:58
Now we're talking. I smiled slightly at the mile split, and then looked ahead to the turnaround at the 5K mat. There was still traffic to navigate, but, strangely, I was quite comfortable on the LEFT side of the road, as I was passing folks here and there, and didn't want to get boxed in on the right. Mile 2-3 had gone almost exactly as I'd hoped. Just under 8 minutes, and I wasn't super taxed, effort-wise.
5K mark: very close to 25 minutes exactly
You'd think, if I had half a brain in my head that I would have realized that if I just DOUBLED what I had just run, I'd hit almost 50 minutes exactly for a 10K, and that would make for a magic "49:xx" on my watch if I could manage an expected fast finish.
My internal dialogue, however, forgot ALL math, and instead just focused on The Plan.
8 minutes per mile. This is key. Stay close to it, and then trust your kick. Trust your kick.
Mile 3-4: 7:54
I pressed on for this mile, aided by some tailwind. I'd noted a slight headwind during the first 5K, and made a mental note to take advantage of it when we turned. I wanted to put some distance between me and a few folks who'd been sling-shooting me.
Mile 4-5: 8:03
This was the pre-planned "stepback" mile, where I had promised myself just a bit of rest, and I didn't panic when the time came back over 8 minutes. I dunked a little water over my head/back during this part, and just tried to prepare myself. Because when I slapped down the "lap" button at the mile 5 marker, it was game freaking ON.
Miles 5-finish (6.2): Just over 9 minutes (7:35/mile pace)
I slapped down the lap button at the mile 5 marker, and immediately increased leg turnover. It seemed that there was far more room to maneuver, and a person who'd been passing/getting passed by me quickly fell back. I wasn't even angry at this point. Nor was I overly excited. If anything, I was worried. I really REALLY wanted this sub-50 finish. I fretted over mile 2, and wondered if I'd banked enough time. I pushed. I looked for good tangent lines as the road flowed, and just kept pressing.
The Lawyers Have Heart finish involves a hairpin turn, and then a flying downhill (the one you run up at the start). It's just that it's waaaaaaay down there. As I ran, I could see the clock across the finish line. I looked down at my Garmin. I had some time, but not much.
Press. Trust your kick.
I pressed. I trusted my kick.
I violated all finish line rules by immediately looking at my watch as I finished, slapping down on the stop button. I'd finished faster than 49 and a half minutes. Sub-freaking 50.
Another running bucket list item, checked off.
I ran to get my bag, and discovered there was ONE -- ONE volunteer, who was just waving people past her to go find their bags. When my boss later arrived, the bag check area was EMPTY of volunteers, and it was just "collect your bags" on the honor system. Hello? Honor system? With LAWYERS?
Fail. I got my bag (which had my phone in it!) and was thankful that I could go hunt for delicious brunch and even-more-delicious booze.
Race by the numbers:
Top 26% of all finishers
Top 37% of all men
Top 37% of men in my AG
This is what I'm about used to. I figure I'm often in the top quarter of all race finishers, but damn, old guys really are freaking competitive, and knock me into the top third, plus/minus a few percentage points depending on the race. But numbers like these didn't bother me. I'd made it. I pulled out my phone and re-told that same joke from a year ago:
(Yes, I do repeat some jokes on Twitter. But repeating this one was worth it, because, unlike the 2013 joke at the START of this post, this Tweet had a happier ending):
I’m in Georgetown for the “Lawyers Have Heart” 10K, which is kinda like naming a race, “Surgeons have Shaky Hands.” #PR #FirstSub50
— Tai Fung (@tai_fung) June 14, 2014
Anyway, my team met up, and I guzzled many of these:
|SO TASTY AND FULL OF BOOZE.|
Fast forward to the next day. I went out and did 14 miles on the C&O Canal Towpath (gotta string back-to-back workouts because of JFK 50 this Fall). As I was working my miles, I noticed my shin was . . . burning. I mean, it was HOT. I thought perhaps I had been stung by something.
Hrm. Nothing. Back to running.
Damn. Burning again. Weird.
I mean, what a weird spot. Right there on my . . . shin . . .
I HAD BEEN STANDING IN POISON FUCKING IVY.
So really, great race. Kind of a shitstorm before and after, which I think was motivated to raise money for their cause no matter the "cost." But, if you told me I was going to get a bunch of gray hair and poison ivy in order to break a previously-thought impossible barrier, I'd take it (but I'd also buy some kind of cream as well, because . . . ouch).