Race Report: Pearl Street Mile

I am overdue for a report on the Boulder 70.3 (which was awesome!) but the Pearl Street Mile was tonight, therefore more fresh in my mind and also was only a mile, so it will be a quicker post.

I wasn’t sure if I should even do the race because I thought my legs were still tired from the half ironman this past Sunday BUT I did the Pearl Street Mile last year and I was really curious to see if I could go faster. I set the bar low-ish last year with a time of 7:03 so I thought it was conceivable that I would go faster but I also felt ok with blaming a sub-par performance on the fatigue leftover from the weekend.

I did a nice long warm-up, including some strides and also a shot of espresso about a half hour before the race, as per the advice of our Australian roommates. He is a an aspiring professional cyclist and she is a professional triathlete. I felt good about taking their advice. Taking the shot of espresso… not so good. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to say anything rude about coffee. I LOVE coffee. Coffee is my friend. Coffee makes me feel good when I feel bad. But sort of the way a Fundamentalist is to a Sunday churchgoer or a shot of tequila is a to a margarita, a shot of espresso is to a double shot Americano with a shot of steamed soy milk and one packet of Splenda. It’s a little much. I had it at 6pm. I don’t think I will fall asleep till Sunday, earliest.

I lined up at what I thought was the middle but soon realized it was the back. I was kind of thinking it was the back when I saw a lot of 9 year old kids and chubby people my parents’ age. I was sure of it when a fat older lady asked “Where’s water? Is there any water? I need water.” Um, lady, its 6:20 p.m., its like 78 degrees without a trace of humidity, and we are running a mile. A. MILE. I think you can make it without water. Like a garden snake in a hot pink Brooks wicking top, I quietly and I hoped not rudely slithered my way to the middle of the front area.

The gun went off and I went. I almost got pushed over a few times as we approached the almost immediate sharp right turn onto Spruce. At the next turn I was sure I had gone out too fast, but by the time you go out you are practically coming back anyway so it didn’t much matter. I was aware that my breathing was totally out of control but it was just a mile. We turned left onto Pearl and then left again and we were halfway to the finish line and I wanted to die. My lungs were burning. Why was I doing this? One mile? One stupid mile? What was even the point of this meshugas? Oh my god this was the definition of insanity. This girl with a bright blue top wants to pass me. I won’t let her I won’t let her I won’t let her. Too late, she went by. Catch up to her! Forget it, just get to the finish. Clock says 6:35… I can get there by 6:40. There is a knife in my lungs. I cannot breathe. Oh my god. 6:40! Yeah!!!!!!

I got second in my age group and 13th out of 63 women in the “Friends and Family” wave! (They let the pros and semi-pros go in their own division). And I got a coupon to Outdoor Divas after.

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