So that half marathon I’ve been obsessing over?
It’s on Saturday. Like THIS Saturday.
(aiiieeeeeeeeeeee HOLD ME.)
So here’s what I’ve done to get these legs ready (most recently):
- 2 18-mile long runs. In the second, I hit 13.1 in 1:59:xx. Running easy, controlled. Remember that half marathon last fall where I puked all over a few select portions of Fargo? I ran that in pretty much the same time and thought death was imminent. This run? Felt pretty damn good.
- This past week, I ran two days of 5 x 1 mile repeats, 48 hours apart. The target was 7:41. Splits from day one: 7:32, 7:37, 7:44, 7:42, 7:40. Day two: 7:39, 7:43, 7:42, 7:42, 7:37. Yeah, that felt good.
- Two weeks at 50 miles–a new all-time high for me. Lots of tempo runs. Lots of miles headed into the wind. Lots of being out the door so early the sun still hadn’t made an appearance when I got home.
I’m ready. I know I am. I had a tempo run to take race pace for a test drive on Saturday and it didn’t go so great. I beat myself up over it pretty hard. And then I sat down and looked at my splits when I got home and saw that I had hit 6.2 well ahead of my current 10k PR. So there, self-doubt. Even on a shitty day, we’re making some things happen.
My original A goal for this race was 1:47:xx. The whole point behind this madness is to get a starting corral in the Chicago Marathon, for which a 1:49:59 will do. But I can do better. That’s why the new game plan is to get to the finish line before 1:45:59, move up a corral, and smash my PR by more than 10 minutes. I’ve looked at the splits on paper, and they don’t look like numbers I run. But I’m going to go after it.
I’ll have to remember not to start too fast. To not get discouraged if an 8:14 split comes across my watch. To not give up hope if it becomes apparent that maybe my finish will be just under 1:47, because damn if that isn’t still worth fighting for. To be calm. Relaxed. To be brave. To believe.
In a move of total thievery, the thing I’ll be screaming in my own head when the going gets tough comes from the lovely Ariana Hilborn (who’s going to kick some serious ass in Boston next Monday).
Faith not Fear.
It’ll be what I tell myself when I toe that starting line. It’ll be the thing blaring through my mind at mile 10 when I’m going to step it up, and see what I’ve got left. It’ll be thing resonating through my ears when the clock at the finish line comes within view and it doesn’t say 1:46 yet.
Faith not fear.