Race recap: Hy-Vee Road Races half marathon

So as not to bury the lead, several race-day fears came true yesterday at the Hy-Vee half marathon.

I was comfortable in a T-shirt and shorts at the starting line, meaning the abrupt warmup I'd fretted about had indeed arrived. And the combination of adrenaline, wanting to break free from the crowd and a prolonged downhill stretch at the beginning meant I started far too strong.

Toss in misleading MapMyRun distances and paces (apparently I ran 13.75 miles at a 9:30 clip!), and you've got the makings of a letdown. Watch the slow, steady downward progress:

My 5K split was 28:33 (a 9:11 pace); 10K split was 58:40 (a 9:26 pace); 15K split was 1:29:30 (a 9:36 pace); and overall time was 2:10:33 (a 9:58 pace).

I'd rather focus on the positives, though, and the good news is that, once I literally cooled down, this wasn't even a struggle.

* Spectator signs were excellent. My favorite was "If this were easy, it would be called your mom," followed by "Worst parade ever :( " and "Run faster, I just farted."

(I would've smiled more at "Don't walk, people are watching," except that I indulged in walking and did not care who saw.)

* The friend factor was off the charts. Emily and Zach ran the half with me; we let Zach take off with the fast kids, but we ladies stuck together for not quite half of the race. Even though we hardly talked (she's an iPod runner), somehow it made the miles fly by.

No sweat, no scowls: This is obviously a pre-race photo.

After the race, I got to commiserate about the conditions with the friends who ran the half, and I was consoled/credited by those who didn't run the half, all along the lines of "Seriously, you just ran 13.1 miles. That's amazing. I can't even fathom doing that."

And both of those groups united for a long, leisurely post-race celebration.

* Post-race brunch was beyond amazing. We hit up Jethro's for a $6 all-you-can-eat brunch, and words cannot describe how amazing everything tasted ... for a beyond-reasonable price.

That first bite of bacon tasted soooo good. I might've wept for joy. The potatoes, which you can barely see, were the real star, though. Yes, those are Bloody Marys; no, I didn't finish mine after the first two sips. 

To top it off, we saw Huckleberry stroll by and mark a shrub as his, and there was this sign:

Don't worry. I left a tip.

* Post-race beer was fantastic. One at Jethro's, a few more in a supportive friend's courtyard. There's no caloric guilt in having a few Summer Shandies after running 13.1 miles, right? And it's totally OK to drink your post-race fuel instead of eating it, right?

Overall, while I fell short physically and mentally during the race (I'm really sorry to everyone who heard me ask where the f*** the finish line was, or declare that this length was f***ing bulls***), I'm pleased with the lead-up and aftermath.

I trained my body well; it just so happened that race-day conditions didn't arrive until the taper period.

And with that, plus my embarrassment/frustration/anger at acknowledging hopes and dreams only to fall short, it was less than an hour before I was thinking and saying: "Maybe I can redeem myself at the Des Moines half this fall."

No declarations of "running sucks, I quit forever." It's just time to recuperate and think about RAGBRAI now.

Will I or won't I break my PR?

So I ran the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick 5K on Sunday, which as you might remember was the event at which I hoped to better my personal record. Let's take a look at how that day went.

1:30 a.m.: My cat, annoyed that I didn't come straight home after work, develops a case of the crazies as I prepare for bed. This results in a (minor) bloody toe. I hope this is not an omen.

This was not taken during the kitty-crazies outbreak. I just wanted an excuse to post a picture of Dusty, and in particular the unimpressed/skeptical look he often gives me.

6, 7 and 8 a.m.: I wake up, realize it's not 9 a.m. yet and roll back into a fitful doze.

8:50 a.m.: I crawl out of bed and recall one of my dreams last night — that the race went poorly, for some reason. So far my dreams have shown no sign of a latent psychic talent, but will this streak continue?

9:30 a.m.: I check Facebook to see that a college acquaintance ran a 5K in 23 minutes, good for a trophy in our age group. My 24:58 three-miler ducks its head, ashamed of its bragging.

10:30 a.m.: I pull into the True Value Hardware parking lot, observe lots of spandex and stretching, but no starting line or registration table. I ask one of the spandex-clad stretchers where the race begins, and she tells me to walk around the fence that says "plague." Her directions are spot-on:

I hope I'm not disseminating gang messages by posting this.

10:50 a.m.: "THE RACE WILL START IN 10 MINUTES," blares a megaphone. Regina and I keep walking until we find ourselves literally at the starting line. Yards behind us, the other runners mill about.

I'm mildly excited, because there are no timing chips, but also feel out of place with the fast kids. Will they trample me? Regina doesn't take any chances with that and bids me farewell.

The man next to me turns out to be a friendly and speedy veteran of this race. We discuss his pace (faster than mine), his clothing choices (not as smart as mine!) and the terrain/route.

10:59 a.m.: "THE RACE WILL START IN ONE MINUTE." Mr. Friendly gives me a fist bump for luck.

11:07.50 a.m.: One mile in, I'm being passed by quite a few people, but MapMyRun tells me I've just run another sub-8:00 mile. Logically I know it's too fast; physically, I know it's faster than normal yet not miserable. Please don't bonk!

11:15.47 a.m.: I've turned around and feel much slower, though MapMyRun later will tell me I was only seven seconds off the first mile's pace. I feel like I'm working — not miserable, but not eager to prolong this much more.

(Time unknown, but 0.66 miles later): Leading up to the turnaround is a slight but long incline. I wimp out and walk a few seconds. Yep, with less than a half-mile to go, I walk. Maybe 0.2 miles later, I do it again. Come ON, Sadye. Seriously.

11:24 a.m.: I've turned the corner, literally, and am headed literally down Grand Avenue, with the finish line in plain sight. Also in plain sight? A completely pancaked squirrel on the road. RIP, buddy.

11:25 a.m.: There's a guy in front of me, but he's not picking up his pace even though we're so close. Well, I'm going to.

11:25.25 a.m.: I pass the guy.

11:25.30 a.m.: I officially finish, breaking my PR by more than a minute.

11:25.33 a.m.: I remember to hit stop on my phone.

11:24.40 a.m.: The nausea subsides.

11:24.45 a.m.: The guy I passed smiles at me and says: "Good job!" in a nonsarcastic way.

11:25 a.m.: The sun comes out, perfect for my sweaty T-shirt and shorts. I wonder how the jacket-wearing Mr. Friendly feels right now.

11:45 a.m.: Regina and I have both finished, rehydrated, dried off, etc., and decide to have a celebratory drink. As we try to enter Sully's, we discover the first one is on the race organizers. Free beer and a PR; what could be better than that?

Nothing says classy like sitting on a Burger King stoop with free mass-produced beer before noon.

12:24 a.m.: We're polishing off the half-beers I snagged before the keg ran dry when age group awards are announced. Turns out I placed second in the women's 20 to 29 group (out of 17).

That's what's better than free beer and a PR — earning your first athletic trophy ever, and NOT just for participating.

I might put this on my desk at work, to make more people ask me about it and then having to congratulate me. 

(And if, like me, you were wondering whether my walk breaks cost me first, the answer is no, thank God. The first-place winner beat me by nearly five minutes.)

I had a not-so-great run, and that's great!

The past two weeks, the running gods have been overwhelmingly good to me.

They've given me two 40-degree days, they've given me very few bitterly cold ones, they've given me back-to-back strong long runs ... and they've given me one clunker.

Yes, you read that right, and I wrote it right. With the clarity of hindsight, I'm glad that Saturday's tempo run kind of stunk.

At the time, I had many reasons to be annoyed. The numbers looked OK when I was done, but I didn't make it easy on myself — I didn't layer properly, I had two timing snafus and I started the fast portion too fast on a cold day. To add insult to injury, partway up the horrible 60th Street hill, the sidewalk suddenly stopped being plowed.

I briefly, crazily, thought I could trudge through it; realized that was idiotic and clomped right over to the curb (we're still ankle-deep in snow, here) to try to cross four lanes of Saturday traffic; and eventually had the presence of mind to give up ... but backtracked through that same ankle-deep snow to cross at an actual intersection.

Fortunately, it doesn't take a good run — just a run — to bring me my runner's high. Once it was done, I shrugged it off and wished myself better luck next time.

Listening to WGN Sports Night on Wednesday brought me all the way around from "que sera, sera" to gratitude: Brian Noonan (or possibly David Kaplan) said that as awesome as the Blackhawks' no-regulation-loss streak was, he was almost looking forward to it being over.

Noonan had a legitimate point: that he'd rather not have a tangential streak distract players from the real prize. I, however, have a borderline stupid point.

The superstitious part of me fears that if I don't have a few bad runs early in the training cycle, that I'll have huge blowups and meltdowns later in the cycle — early on during a 10-mile practice run, for instance, or even on race day itself.

The slightly more rational side of me knows that I need to practice suffering through a run, so I'm not floored by how demanding the half marathon will eventually become (hopefully not until my mileage reaches double-digits, but it's happened sooner) and so I know I'll survive that misery.

And the most logical part of me is glad that I had the opportunity to bounce back mentally and to appreciate the good runs even more.

That Saturday tempo run was like ripping off a Band-Aid. No more — OK, less — living in fear.

My 12th and final check-in on the Rock River 1000 Mile Challenge

One running challenge down, one still left to go. (I haven't gotten my final holiday running streak effort in yet, but I will after I post this!)

I wrapped up my 2012 running season with two very cold and shockingly, nauseatingly fast miles on New Year's Eve. That put me at 931 for the entire year, running and walking.

The night before that — New Year's Eve Eve — I went ice skating at Brenton Plaza with two good friends, one of whom is a natural athlete and the other of whom is, well, more like me. (However she can swim laps around the two of us, so it evens out.)

As natural athlete friend outpaced the two of us who were clinging desperately to the handrail, I found myself thinking: "This was an ill-advised decision for a runner who's just days from completing two challenges she's worked fairly diligently on ... "

But as I found my stride and completed a loop or two, I tried desperately not to jinx myself with thoughts of "wow, I haven't wiped out yet!" but rather "I wonder how far each loop is" and "Does this count toward my run streak?"

It was facetious, sort of; I'd argue that skating is more worthy of being counted than biking, which I definitely saw people doing and definitely am not bitter about.

Thinking back on it post-challenge, however, makes me vaguely nostalgic, because it's emblematic of 2012 for me: I spent the year focusing on mileage, asking my companions "How far do you think we walked around [insert outdoor event or city]?",  re-creating the hike from Ogilvie Transportation Center to Chicago tourist attractions on MapMyRun, live-tracking a midparty liquor quest. 

Can I quit measuring any move of significance, cold turkey? Can I stop demanding that someone else uncork wine because, after all, I walked 1.7 miles to get that wine to share with her?

I should probably say yes to the latter and no to the former. The race against the calendar lit a fire under me to keep active this year, but the takeaway — for a nonwinner — was ultimately a helpful reminder that the walking miles add up in an important way for fitness purposes.

But first comes a well-deserved and much-needed period of inactivity. That will be the true judge of how deeply the fitness-tracking bug bit me.

Attempting a 2012 goal for the first time since February

Throughout the Holiday Run Streak – now at 11, assuming (safely) that I run today — I've thought to myself: "At least one of the single-mile runs I do should be fast." While I have no qualms about using one slow mile as a stand-in for a rest day, I don't want to baby myself, either.

Yesterday was my first such attempt. Having been out late the night before, my hopes were not high. I knew that, with moderate effort, I could most likely finish in less than nine minutes, though.

Off I went. The first quarter-mile, I succeeded in keeping the pace I do on my faster intervals. The wind and the yogurt I'd eaten pre-run were mostly vague irritants more than hindrances.

As I've mentioned before, in my four years of running, I still haven't nailed "don't go out too fast and totally wipe yourself out." During the second quarter-mile, I felt cautiously optimistic that this was a good pacing day; I wasn't going to sustain this pace for 5K, but it was comfortably hard rather than excruciating.

I turned around at the half-mile mark. No surprise, then, that my legs felt the heaviest during the third quarter-mile. My lungs weren't exactly happy with me, either. However, my ego was doing just fine, having seen that I'd done a little over a half-mile in 4:10. The very likely positive split wouldn't keep me from finishing under 9:00.

The desire to get this over with powered me through the final quarter-mile. I've found "you can do anything for two minutes" to be a pretty powerful positive self-talk, so I went to that well almost nonstop during the final 0.25. I was sucking air fairly hard, but even worse was how the morning's yogurt and the previous night's alcohol were sloshing around in my stomach.

Finally I hit 1.00. My time? 7:57.

Let me repeat: 7:57.

Back in February, I'd set three running goals for myself: finish the Rock River 1000 Mile Challenge, run a mile in 8:00 and average a 9:00 pace for a 5K (which I'd forgotten about, until re-reading my blog post).

At the time, I'm sure I expected to succeed in the first and fail at the second two. But as it stands right now, I've missed the first and nailed the second two. (Remember the Remembrance Run 5K?)

Plus, I've done more than survive the two speed challenges. I've finished maybe not with a smile, but with a great rush of endorphins and that ridiculous feeling that I can do anything once I get into some dry clothes and chug a big glass of water.

I'm still pinching myself: 7:57. I hope my gym teachers are reading this.

Upcoming race: Remembrance Run

Remember when I said I was toying with the idea of doing the Des Moines Half Marathon?

As it turns out, I already have a pretty firm commitment elsewhere that day — but I'll be breaking my racing drought sooner than that anyway.

My friend Marco signed up for West Des Moines' Remembrance Run, a 5K that honors Iowa's fallen service members. Then he pulled a calf muscle. Walking sometime was out of the question, let alone running. What to do?

Over a few beers, we decided that I should run the race for him and let him take the glory. (I tried to tell him that he'd picked the wrong replacement for glory, but he did — correctly — point out that a did not start brings even less glory than a 30:00 5K.)

But seriously, the Des Moines Register's preview piece on it made me glad to be joining, even if it is as a substitute and not as my own idea.

Clearly, I haven't trained specifically for a 5K. But jokes about inglorious times aside, I'm hoping and vaguely planning for a strong showing: bring the smartphone, run MapMyRun and see how comfortable I feel around the 9:00 pace.

Ambitious? Not in the least bit; it's a speed I've done before over longer runs. It's mostly a target to strike a balance between my regular ole shuffle and the race-day adrenaline that pushes me to start too fast and fade.

Still, I'll end with this quote from George Sheehan, author of "Running and Being": "The difference between a jogger and a runner is an entry blank."

Hearing voices

Several runners in my Twitter feed and on my Daily Mile account seem to like the RunKeeper app.

I tried it once and hated it, for two reasons: One, its GPS couldn't handle my country roads like MapMyRun had consistently been able to; and two, it spoke to me. I wasn't expecting that robotic observation of "one. mile. at. nine. minutes. and. fifty. seconds," and it didn't matter to me that disabling voice was probably very simple —trial over, RunKeeper loses, MapMyRun wins.

So over the weekend, I finally hooked up my wireless Internet, which in turn inspired me to finally listen to my phone's prompting to upgrade my apps. I did so ... after clearing off RunKeeper, something I apparently hadn't managed to do last fall.

MapMyRun's welcome screen looked a lot different, but the important part — the live mapping, another feature that RunKeeper either lacked or hid from a certain lazy smartphone user — was the same. Off I went, two easy, gently breezy, humidity free miles.

Then it happened. "TWO. MILES. IN. NINETEEN. MINUTES. AND. EIGHTEEN. SECONDS."

This is why I don't like to upgrade my apps. Last time, it was the garage door opener app that hit a huge snafu, deleting the account name and password that no one could remember with certainty and causing us to reset the password.

Now this time, the user name and alphanumeric password with special characters (IT gods are smiling!) survived, but apparently the price I paid was having the default set to "unexpected robot voice blaring at interval I never track anyway." For me, there isn't any especially good time to hear a voice less humanoid than a GPS one, but why every two miles? I record my single-mile, not double-mile, splits ...

Unlike RunKeeper, MapMyRun gets another chance, with the "voice feedback" setting easily turned to off. But app developers, if you're reading this, please heed this advice: Surprise noisy additions to your products don't make friends, just soiled pants.