I kicked off 2016 on March 12th with my third or fourth outing in the RockNRoll DC half marathon. The first race of 2016 was really just a training run for this season’s two big goals: a BQ at the Mountains to Beach Marathon (California) in May and finishing Ironman Chattanooga in September (sans traumatic brain injuries or stress fractures.)

At RockNRoll last year I had a 13.1 PR of 1:41:24. I knew the race this year would be slower and definitely not a record-breaker. Last year the soggy morning I think helped my legs along – less time to sit back and take stock of the joy of running with thousands of friends. This year we had pretty ideal race conditions: a dry upper 40s overcast start to the weekend. If it’d been any warmer or less pleasant I don’t think I could have pulled down the 1:42:20 I ended up with. Knowing what I was working with going in I was pretty happy with that and feel like I’m on track for that coveted Boston 2017 bib.

I knew going in that I was a month behind last year thanks to the month of January spent in South Africa and Madagascar. (I can’t really complain about the lack of conditioning because honeymoon is pretty much the best excuse to be fat [tan] [full] and happy ever.) Once Scott and I were home from our African odyssey I tried to get right down to business, rebuilding my aerobic base and putting the miles back on. (Miles back on my legs, in the saddle, and in the pool. And of course got back to strength work on the megaformer at [solidcore].)

In my runs through February and the first bit of March, I felt so slow. I couldn’t crack into the 7s even on my shortest runs and in 20 degrees. After 2015 where speed felt like it was finally clicking into place – a season marked by my annual stress fracture yes, but also by my first podium (in a sprint in which I’d won the run despite almost no running thanks to said annual stress fracture) and by consistent mid-7 numbers no matter the distance or multi-sport designation – I thought even with a month long sub-Saharan sabbatical I should be able to tick those numbers down right away. Not so.

I complained pathetically to my friend and runspiration, Kim – she of Track Club Babe fame (read her blog for a dose of positive outlook that’ll knock your compression socks off) – and she assured me my pacing would come back and reminded me that 2016 is all about eyes on the M-Dot prize.

In the month leading up to RockNRoll, DC experienced a bipolar vortex, with weekly temperatures ranging from wind-chills below zero to 80 degree summer wardrobe days. Each extreme offered its own conditioning challenges. The east-ward howling headwind that inflated my hood no matter how tight I tied it, turning my winter run-gear into a cranial parachute was unpleasant. But then again so was the 60 degree spike in the thermostat, melting my already tired, unconditioned legs to salty, crampy tree stumps. In the last couple weeks before race day, I managed to squeeze in a couple runs in the high 7s, but more often I was turning in mid to low 8s, and working hard for them.

Race week I changed up my schedule to give myself a full rest day on Friday for the Saturday race. Usually I do one of my two weekly [solidcore] classes on Fridays before work and either spin or run Friday night. Instead I did 2.5 miles Thursday evening on my way to a [solidcore] class, which Coach Sarah was kind enough to make arms and abs-focused. Those 2.5 miles hurt. And they were slow. And the little bit of legs we did in class was painful. That night I texted my race crew, Mike and Chris, and told them Saturday was looking rough. I was starting to worry about cracking 1:50; dreading a really bad performance that might be a really discouraging start to an ambitious race season.

Friday I slept in a bit, freed of my 5am alarm, then slowly walked to work. (I’m competitive even as I commute, running to catch lights and get in front of other pedestrians. I generally arrive at the office sweaty and harried [BUT VICTORIOUS] no matter the weather.) After work, Chris and I hit the expo, which was at the Stadium Armory this year – much less convenient than the Convention Center where it was last year.

Chris tried to convince me to buy $150 of Expo gear so that I could upgrade to a VIP bathroom. I, ahem, shit you not, that’s an upgrade RnR DC (all RnR races?) offers. As into pre-race BMs and Expo spend-happy as I am, you’d expect me to be the target audience here, and even I think that’s absurd. Instead I spent a respectable $75 (oops) and Chris and I metro’ed back to Shaw to meet (my hubs) Scott for pre-race pasta at the same restaurant we went to last year, Dino. (Race-eve or regular night, I love this place! Actually it’s better when you can take full advantage of their very fun and thoughtful wine list.)

Back at home after dinner, I was pretty laid back about putting my gear together, forgetting to do it until the last minute. I guess I had successfully convinced myself that this was nothing more than my long run of the week. I told Scott that it was really nice not caring too much about a race. I was so relaxed – almost too relaxed considering I legitimately almost forgot to get my gear-check bag ready. We went to bed around 10 or 10:30 and I set my alarm for 5:30. It was all pretty standard for any morning workout, and actually a few minutes later than I get up for pre-work training.

I woke up decently-rested, got in an uber at 6am, and was in my first porta potty by 6:20am. I slowly wandered up to the bag check trucks with more than an hour to kill before the first gun would go off. It was quite cold, and I loitered around the W truck for a while before Chris and Mike showed up forcing me to part with all my long-sleeve layers. I hemmed and hawed over whether to go sleeveless or not. It was low-40s and there was a chance of light rain. Mike convinced me to give them up and I’m so glad he did. Within a few minutes of crossing the start line I was warm enough to be comfortable in my tank, and if I’d kept the top layer I’m afraid it would have slowed me down – or at some point I would have been forced to do the awkward strip-while-running routine, replete with trying to remove my arm band without tripping over my headphones. I always keep thermal blankets when they’re passed out after races, so with my NYC Marathon throw-away thermal, I wasn’t too uncomfortable after giving up my sleeves and gear bag.

Knowing I was a month behind last year in training, I hadn’t been sure what to guestimate as my finishing time. I think I predicted 1:44, which landed me in corral 3 out of I’m not sure how many – several dozen though – so I crossed the start line just three minutes after the gun. This happily meant less time to freeze and regret giving up my sleeves, and less elbow-throwing to find a place and pace in the first couple miles.

Last year I remember it being much more crowded in the beginning of the race – a people-heavy predicament which showed up in my splits. Actually, while I was slower overall this year, I was so much more consistent this time out. Last year I fluctuated almost every mile – from mile times in the 8s to my first ever 6’er in a race. This year, no 6’ers, but, with the exception of the evil Rock Creek hill, my mile times were all within 20 seconds of each other. Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit, but as someone who has always struggled with pacing, doing a better job in this category feels like I’m maturing as a runner.

That said, (bragged,) the hill in Rock Creek really did me in this year. That was the point at which I acutely felt my want of conditioning. Hills are usually my jam. I generally charge up them as fast as I can and trust in my fitness that I’ll recover. This year I crept up slowly, unable to turn up the turn-over, and once at the top, it took me at least half a mile to recover my breath, my stride, and my heart rate. Cresting Rock Creek this year felt less like the accomplishment it has previously, and more like a badly-performed T2 (bike to run transition) in a triathlon I haven’t prepared for.  This mega-incline hits close to the half-way point (of the half anyway … poor full marathon folks) and I became legitimately concerned that I wouldn’t be able to regain my pre-climb pace. Eventually I got my legs back underneath me and settled back into the 7:40s – definitely benefiting from some downhill stretches in the later miles.

I was hoping to see my hubbie and pup around mile 10, but I beat them there by a few minutes, so that was a bittersweet missed connection. Last year I missed them around mile 8 because I was too distracted by being drenched and miserable – they saw me, I just kept my head down and didn’t see them. Better luck in 2017?

The remaining miles were pleasantly uneventful – with one adorable exception.

I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned here my longstanding obsession with Great Danes, but suffice it to say, this decades long love-affair has become perhaps unhealthy in recent months. After hitting the 11 mile marker I was holding pretty steady at 7:45 min/mile. I remember thinking that I could maintain that the last two miles, but that I definitely didn’t have anything extra left in the tank. I mentally committed to that pace for the next 16 minutes. About ten strides later I turned right up a small incline, and what did I see? Only the most beautiful blue harlequin Great Dane in history. I reflexively gasped and lost all control of my breathing. I paused trying to decide if I should ask to pet it. Or just grab it and go. (That was out of the question because I knew I was out of sprinting gas.) I decided to stay the course and not stop (I’d probably never start again) but the brief hyperventilation and adrenaline surge totally upended my plan to hold that steady 7:45.  The presence of a giant, beautiful, smooshy dog was very nearly my undoing. I may need to wear blinders for my A races the rest of the year. Or I just need my own Great Dane. Ultimately I was able to speed it back up in the final stretch to the finish line, but I would have been closer to last year’s time without that cuddly distraction.

I was the first out of my race crew to finish so I headed to gear check to put some layers back on and get some calories back in. It was lovely not finishing during a downpour. I collected arm-loads of water, gatorade, chocolate milk, bananas, and pretzels on my way to the gear check trucks. Once fully laden with noms and warm clothes I posted up on a hill near the finish line.

While nomming and waiting, I met an older gent (early 60s) who will be running Ironman Chattanooga for the second time this summer. He had lots of great advice for the race and for tackling IM in general.  He had just lost his wife to a long battle with cancer in January, and told me how diving into tri training has been his solace through her sickness and now in her absence. It broke my heart while reinforcing my love for this community of people and this sport.

Chris finished, gathered his own gear and met me and my new, inspiring friend. Mike was doing the full 26.2 so we hung out a while and then wandered over to the finisher’s shoot to cheer him in.  Mike didn’t have the race he was hoping for, but his bad day is most people’s best day ever, and he was really upbeat in the face of disappointment. He layered back up, and with the crew complete we were able to put the calories back in for real.  (Good because by then I’d been done and getting hungrier for close to two hours.)

After a disastrously rainy year last year (see 2015 race report) Rock ‘n’ Roll organizers did a great job of revamping the finish area so it was more convenient to the metro and offered more opportunities to not be soaked and freezing. Fortunately we didn’t need the dry changing areas this time, and instead got to take advantage of the food trucks and Michelob tent.

We hit up the DC Slices truck (most popular at the race by far) and plowed through some serious carbs. Then we very happily made use of our beer tickets and enjoyed some pretty decent music before heading to the metro and home.

Because people were able to enjoy the finish area this year, the metro wasn’t mobbed, and I was able to get right on a train. Somehow DC’s weekend metro service was running smoothly and I was home with the hubs and the pup in no time – making up for missing them earlier. I love that this race is on a Saturday and so easy to get to and from. It leaves the rest of the weekend available which makes me feel like less of a selfish race-drone. I couldn’t really ask for a better start to 2016.