This will be a short one (for me) because I didn’t take my usual notes at the end of it so recreating a race report months later proves challenging. Maybe this will teach me a lesson about timely reporting/consistent note-taking, but I think the real issue is this race was pretty miserable and I just wanted to mentally block it.
Scott and I sign up for Army Ten every year because it’s usually an inspiring morning with a fun course and crowd. While we’re registered most years it’s a little hit and miss whether we get to participate – it sells out quickly so we always just sign up in the spring as soon as registration opens, and then it remains to be seen what the October schedule will actually have in store for us. This year the stars-or more accurately, race and wedding seasons-aligned to permit Scott and I to use our prepaid bibs!
The Friday before race day (Oct. 6) I met a friend and hit the expo, picking up both aforementioned bibs. I was six weeks away from my A race, the Philly Marathon, so I felt lowkey about everything, which was good for my credit card. I picked up some gus and Clif products and that was it. Given the impending goal race, Army 10 was just going to be a training run. In fact, that Friday after hitting the expo, I put in an hour running in the bizarro-October heat. (At the time I praised the late summer surge, oh the naiveté….spoiler alert?)
The Saturday before the race I put in some quality swim mileage as well, so come Sunday morning I was far from my freshest self. I wasn’t too worried since I wasn’t racing for time or doing anything more than putting some miles on the pre-marathon, post-injury legs. At this point I was still only a few weeks back into any sort of real run program after the stress fracture/tendinitis scare so I knew while the calendar-stars had aligned to leave me free to participate on Army 10 morning, the speed-stars had not aligned for any sort of PR. I just had a vague goal of being sub 1:20 for ego’s sake.
Come Sunday morning I advocated Lyft over the metro, fearing the train’s proclivity for delays and spontaneous combustion would hinder a punctual arrival. My first of so many mistakes. In years past it’s been a quick shot down to the Pentagon and easy to get dropped off a few blocks from the start area. This year the police closed exit ramps apparently at least 90 minutes before the race started. (Nation’s Tri flashbacks anyone? No? Just me?) Our saintly Lyft driver was rerouted repeatedly until the patient and creative man finally made it off the highway and up backstreets to get us close-ish enough. We thanked him (and tipped him) heartily and joined the already-sweaty athletes hoofing it to the start.
A few minutes out of the Lyft and we were already-sweaty because that heat wave that I’d loved so much on Friday had only gotten warmer and weirder. The last time I did Army Ten I had shivered uncomfortably beneath numerous layers at the frigid start line. It had been in the 40s that morning and warmed into the 50s once we got going. And the pre-race freezies notwithstanding, it had been perfect run-weather. I was wishing nostalgically for those shivers this year. Before the mid-October sun was even up it was in the 60s and the humidity was oppressive.
Scott and I filed in past security – no joke at Army Ten given the Pentagon proximity – and headed to gear-check; or we tried to find gear-check. The pre-race layout was a little different this year and there was confusing signage and all of no volunteers pointing the way. I was pretty grumpy when we finally found the table tucked off to the left side sort of close-ish to the barely-visible above the crowd (for this smidge anyhow) gear-check sign. Once that was done it was porta-party time. (Obsessive bathroom habits: not just for triathlons!)
Organizers get an A+++ for potty:participant ratio. First we hit johns on the side of the massive Pentagon parking lot closest to us. Then we walked down toward the faster corrals, and I took the opportunity to go again! No waiting either time despite the massive crowd. I may have been uncomfortable from the rising mercury but at least my tummy was feeling ready.
This second bathroom break had brought Scott and I closer to our corrals but we still had a long trek to get to our assigned spots. This is some actual race reporting advice for anyone who hasn’t done Army Ten before: leave yourself a lot of time to find your corral, especially if you run towards the front of the pack. I was in the yellow wave which was the first main group, and Scott was one wave behind me in green. This meant close to a mile walk from security to our corrals.
As we walked down a stretch of closed freeway, past volunteers checking bib colors for line-jumpers (thank you Army Ten! Do better Cherry Blossom Ten!) there were athletes warming up on the other side of the median from the corrals. I decided to join them, bid Scott good luck and hopped over the cement barriers for some light yogging.
I jogged it out for maybe five minutes and the heat, and more than that, the humidity were making themselves known early. My heart rate was worryingly high and my asthma-y lungs were wheezily protesting. In capris and a tank top I was sticky with sweat from just that light effort, but I dismissed it reminding myself the day was just Philly Marathon prep – just my long run for the weekend.
Unlike years past and despite (or because of?) our near-disasterous Lyft ride in, we’d timed things better this year, and after shaking the legs out I only had to wait a few minutes in my corral before the race got underway. While I waited there was a flyover which always gets a big cheer from the crowd. And which I never remember is happening until it’s too late to get a decent picture.
After the flyover and the anthem, it was time to “race.” Knowing it wasn’t to be a big fast morning I’d staked an unambitious spot toward the back of the wave. When the gun went off I moved forward with the crowd thinking I was well-positioned to find a chill pace and stick with it.
But right away everyone around me was gunning it over the starting sensors and into a fast first mile. Not thinking things through and feeling self-conscious about the aggressive runners around me I held pace with them. And Josh’s instructions about maintaining a low heartrate at least for the first 5k went right out the window. By the first turn less than a mile in I was already rocking 170bpm – over threshold and well-over the 150s I was supposed to shoot for. Given the thermostat I’d been prepared to ditch those 150s quickly but I’d expected to live in the below-threshold 160s range. Now here I was maxing out with almost all the miles still to go.
As we hit mile 1 I was at 8:07 minutes per mile. Meh. But fine ok I’ll hit my stride I thought. So I kept plugging away and my heartrate stayed put and mile two clocked by at 8:07 as well. I thought about Boston and how sure I’d been that I would negative split, that at some point my fitness would kick in and get the better of the unpleasant heat, and how that never happened. I didn’t give up hope yet but I started thinking, ‘maybe these low-8s are all I’ve got today and if so, that’s not that terrible.’ So I stayed put, didn’t ask for any further speed out of my legs or heart. I just focused on maintaining a steady pace, no more and no less.
But my heart did not get the steady-as-she-goes memo and crept a little higher, and made 8:07 that much more uncomfortable, and so I slowed a touch to appease my galloping ticker. When we passed the marker for mile three my Garmin buzzed a frustrating 8:26 and the cycle continued. I tried to take it easy – even to slow – and my heart just kept beating faster. And the centigrade kept creeping up and my BPM followed right behind and so I slowed and by the halfway point I knew those two 8:07s had been the high point of my morning.
Miles six and seven included a switchback heading east up and then back west down Independence Ave. I tried to ignore my own discomfort by scanning the crowd running in the opposite direction for familiar faces – particularly Scott’s, first hoping he was out in front of me having a better morning, and then once I’d turned around at mile six, just hoping to see him at all and make a connection that might give me a little mental boost to finish this miserable thing. My hopes went unfulfilled and as we turned toward that bastard 14th street bridge and passed mile seven, I clocked my slowest lap yet at 8:42. I’d lost my grip on the mid-8s and was inching distressingly toward 9-minute miles.
I was also getting distressingly close to 180bpm. I hadn’t dropped below 175 in miles and I felt awful. It was so muggy – not really hot – the air just felt heavy and wet. And now I somehow had to cross my nemesis-bridge.
I wasn’t alone in my discomfort. Looking around everyone was struggling. People were dropping to a walk, and I was still surrounded by mostly fellow-yellow-bib-first-corralers so clearly this was not the day any of us had planned when we’d signed up. I took some solace that this soggy heat was sapping all of our abilities.
Partway through the bridge-from-hell my flashbacks switched from Boston to Chattanooga when I started hearing sirens and seeing runners collapsed on the sides of the course. I saw at least two, but I think three, people being tended to by EMTs and volunteers and emergency vehicles whizzed by a few times. This was definitely not your typical Army Ten Miler. I checked back in with my body not wanting to join anyone on a Sunday trip to the ER. My heartrate had crossed that 180 threshold which gave me pause, but besides general misery I didn’t feel any real dydration/exaustion symptoms.
Crossing into mile nine I was already so many minutes slower than any sort of not-embarassing showing that I let myself slow even further to be safe. My heart hung in the low 180s as I drew closer to 9 minutes a mile. I stayed steady and continued to hit every aid station. On a better day I may have skipped the last one or two in favor of a faster time, but not that day. I stopped and walked through each and took my time. And so I felt like hell but I didn’t feel dangerous.
Then crossing into mile ten something unexpected and totally irritating happened: I started to feel better. My body had waited till I had half a mile left, then decided to show up. With just a few minutes to go I picked it up and dropped into the 7s for the first time that morning. I was grateful for the momentary reprieve from misery, but I was also pretty irked at my legs and lungs for taking so long.
I crossed the finish line at 1:25:23 with an average pace of 8:33 minutes per mile. Needless to say (but I’ll say it anyway,) I was not pleased – even if it was just a training day. I left my Garmin on as I collected water and snacks so that I could monitor that precipitous heartrate. It was slow in coming back to earth which was further insult to the injurious morning.
I knew Scott must be behind me so I collected my finisher’s coin and got out of the chute to rehydrate and wait. Wandering around the finish festival there were lots of volunteer military personnel and police – we were right next to the Pentagon after all. One police officer had a German Shorthaired Pointer police dog and I quickly forgot all about my grumpy crappy morning. I approached the officer and pup – careful not to touch because UGH I know you’re not supposed to – and told him I’d never seen a GSP police dog before. As I did, the beautiful spotted K9-cop jumped up on me and gave me all sorts of face kisses, and so, I got to play with the police dog because the dog started it!
(Suggestion to race-organizers: therapy dogs! Especially if you all know it’s gonna be a rough weather day and people aren’t going to have strong races. Just distract us with pup-pups at the finish line and all will be forgiven!)
After that much-needed pickmeup I found a spot just past the finishline to wait for Scott. He came in drenched and defeated not too long after that. We commiserated about the disagreeable morning. Once we both had our finisher food we headed back toward gear check so we could get home. The course’s unpleasantness seemed to be infecting the finish line festivities and we didn’t want to hang around. Plus we’d learned in years past to take advantage of the empty trains before too many athletes swarmed them.
Gear check was a fifteen minute slog back by toward the metro, which was fine because it was hot out. But on a normal October morning, this would have been painful and potentially dangerous. You can’t have calorie-depleted athletes walking most of a mile to collect their warm, dry clothes as their body temperatures drop. This setup also makes no sense for groups of disperately paced runners as it impedes being able to quickly grab your checked gear and pop back to the finish line to wait for your friends and family. I don’t think I checked anything the last time I raced Army Ten so I’m not sure if this is how it’s always done or a change to the logistics, but mark me down in the not-a-fan column.
We got home quickly on the train and went straight to brunch – beating the boozy party-brunch crowd by like an hour. (Hey party brunchers! If you wake up a little earlier there’s no wait for a table!) Once the wretched running part of the day was behind us I welcomed the summer’s resurgence. And as I am sitting here writing this during a late March snowstorm, it’s hard to really recall how harsh the humid run-conditions had been. Hindsight is a duplicitous bitch and all that.
Despite my less-than-raving review of 2017’s Army Ten Miler, it’s still a great race that I recommend to any and all. Just, don’t cab/uber/lyft there and check the gear check layout before you plan your race day layers andf logistics. Hopefully the conditions this year were just a fluke and not the new trend. Some time after Scott and I were both done, organizers actually shortened the course for safety. Like I said, not a normal Army Ten. (Also, this really wasn’t that short a post, huh? Foresight is also a duplicitous bitch.)
