Race week? RACE WEEK!

The last time I stood on a real life starting line was Superbowl Sunday, 2020. 

I remember goofing off with Taylor as we stood shivering, waiting for the national anthem to play, huddled in a mass of hundreds of bodies. I remember telling myself to play it cool as we pushed off the starting line, shouting at Taylor that I wished I'd brought my arm warmers as some cold wind blasted down the side street near Kendall, and forced myself to practice patience as I watched my teammates take off at low 6 minute pace. I had a plan, to finish strong, and I executed that plan to perfection. I ended up with my last mile the fastest, tying my 5 mile PR, and overall I was pleased. I remember cooling down with Taylor, Erin, and Elise, jogging in blissful sunshine on the bridge over Memorial Drive, giddy with the feeling of an effort and a race well run, and most of all the possibility of more. We all knew that we were just at the beginning of the season and that as strong as we'd performed on this day, we were just getting started. 

If you had told me that day that I wouldn't race again for over a year, that pretty much no one would, that we were standing on the cusp of a global pandemic that would change everyone's lives forever, there's no way I would have believed you. My eyes were on the future, and it wouldn't be long before I impulsively would sign up for the New Bedford half, a race that I have a long love/hate relationship with, convinced I could run a PR. The race was cancelled days later and...well, we know how the rest of that story goes.

The past year has given me plenty of time to think about the why behind my running, and to reevaluate what my goals are/were and how I hope to achieve them. But more than that, and in a way that I never expected, running without knowing when I'd get to show up to a starting line again also set me free in a way I never anticipated. Suddenly, it didn't matter whether or not I did a workout, or how fast my long run was (not that it ever mattered necessarily, but certainly not in the last year). I didn't have to think about proving to myself or anyone else how fast I was, that I could run a good race, because there was no such thing. And out of this year of no expectations, no pressure, and nothing much to do besides run, I rediscovered the fact that I actually just like running in a way that I had almost forgotten.

I only admitted this to myself recently, but Boston 2019 truly did something to my relationship with running that I think it has taken the better part of the past couple of years to repair. The fact that I could train so hard, be so fit, do everything right, and come away with the latest in a series of awful disappointments just absolutely made me want to throw in the towel. My shift into the triathlon sphere was not a coincidence, and picking up a new sport where everything was new definitely helped to bring back some of the joy I'd been missing, but there was truly a part of me that wondered if I'd really be willing to put myself on the line to try to train and run fast at the longer distances again. I had discussions with friends as the pandemic wore on; friends talked about "moving on" from running or similar concepts. As months turned into a year and more, I found I had made my peace with what running had to offer me right now. I ran as much as I wanted, ran fast when it suited me, and enjoyed the tradition of "adventure long run Saturdays" which Joy and I have had going for almost 6 months now. 

But then, something interesting happened.

After finally digging myself out of the injury hole that I'd found myself in from October to December, I realized that the amount of running I was doing "for fun" was...increasing. I was closing in on 50 mile weeks, something I rarely touch outside of marathon training and something I hadn't done at all since pre-pandemic. Not only that, I was in a good groove with cycling and swimming, and...here's the kicker...it all felt like fun. I was just bopping along, doing my thing, when one day I realized: I was actually training. I described it to my friends as the frog in the slowly heating pot: by the time things came to a boil, it was too late to jump out. So naturally, I did the next logical thing: I started doing some workouts. Little ones at first, my classic favorites of short fartleks at a pretty moderate pace. Then I started randomly doing tempo runs (which I should mention is a workout I DETEST and have never done willingly in my life). We started to build the long runs from 12 to 14 to 15. And for the first time in a long time, I felt that feeling of wanting to test myself, wanting to get on a starting line, just wanting to SEE what I could do starting to build up inside of me. The problem was, there was nowhere to do it. By mid-March I was fully vaccinated and genuinely starting to get antsy. I needed a race, and I needed it bad. 

And then one day, I was scrolling facebook when I got a targeted ad for a race I'd never heard of, the New Boston Half. I investigated and discovered it's a race put on by a company that has been successfully operating races since the fall, being run on a new course in NH as a replacement for a race that they typically put on in MA (since we are ridiculous and road races are only FINALLY being allowed by the state). I scoped out the "flat" course and confirmed that for once, it appears that the race directors aren't totally bullshitting with that description. I closed the browser window. And then, we had a work happy hour and after 1 beer I came home and proclaimed to Andrew: "I think I'm doing a half marathon in May. In fact. You know what? I'm signing up RIGHT NOW" and proceeded to do so as my bemused husband looked at me with an expression that could only mean "oh god, she's back at it". 

Which brings us to today. 

I signed up for the race at the beginning of April, knowing that my fitness was already reasonable, and for some reason got it into my head that I actually wanted to TRAIN for the thing. And so, over the past 5 weeks I've completed some of the best workouts of my entire life. I decided to focus my attention entirely on half marathon pace work, something I've never really DONE - I haven't run a standalone half for anything other than the purposes of a marathon tuneup since maybe my first or second half of my life? So I would set these workouts up for myself - 4 mile tempo, 3 x 2 mile HMP, 5K tempo followed by some speed - and look at them in terror, and then I would go out and execute them and just stare at my splits in disbelief wondering how the hell I had become this person who could do these things. But now, as we know, comes the true test.

Sometimes I think I'm just really bad at racing. I can have these amazing workouts, I can be super fit, but often when push comes to shove the end result just doesn't pan out for whatever reason. And I've been grappling with that fact, because objectively, I KNOW I'm in shape to run a half marathon PR. That's not a question. There are two questions: will I be able to execute? And just how far am I willing to go? With very few exceptions, my best races have been those where I've gone in with no expectations, totally fly by the seat of my pants, welp let's see what happens sort of attitude. And quite honestly, I do think I've got a hefty dose of that attitude to bring to this race - hey, first race after the pandemic, I'm pretty sure that's a get out of jail free card! On the other hand, I don't want to sell myself short because I'm too scared to actually try. And this, my friends, is my ETERNAL conundrum of racing!

I can't predict what I'm going to feel like on Sunday, what emotions are going to be running through my head as I stand with a bib number pinned on for the first time in 469 days, nails painted, race braid done, staring down a half marathon, my white whale of a distance. I'll probably cry, and I'll probably be nervous, but I'm hoping that I'll also feel fierce, calm, ready. Will I even remember how to race? (I'll tell you what, I DEFINITELY do not remember how to taper lol). But a thought occurred to me on a run last week: for me, maybe forgetting how to race is a GOOD thing. Maybe it's time to relearn how to race a half; how to be willing to stare discomfort in the face, to stand at the edge of the fire, and to say fuck it, I can keep going. I've not nothing to lose, nothing to prove, and I am just so damn grateful to get to be out there again, that I hope I can let that gratitude and joy carry me. 

Look, I'm just going to say it: I am so sick of my half marathon PR being 1:3x:xx. I'm over it. I want my goddamn 1:29. And if I blow up trying to make it happen in my first race back after the pandemic, so be it, no one will blame me. I absolutely never would have thought that I'd be coming back guns blazing like this, especially in a distance that has eternally scared me.  But I'm sick of putting these limitations on myself, telling myself I'm 'not good at the half', all this bullshit. I've been waiting a year and a half to have this chance again, and if that time has taught me anything it's that you can never take any race, any opportunity for granted, because you absolutely never know when it might come around again. So damn it, it's time to take a chance. 

Holy shit, it's race week.