Now that we finally have sweaty summer temps in DC, seems like it’s time to roll out a very wintry race report for Rev3’s Santa Shuffle 10k. Kinda weird to remember running in the snow when it’s 90 degrees out!

A few days after the Philadelphia Marathon I got a great Thanksgiving gift* when I learned I’d been selected to represent my favorite race organization, Rev3 as a member of their 2018 Triathlon Team.

*Being Native, the words “Thanksgiving gift” conjure fraught-to-negative historical memories, but in this case it was actually a great and welcome surprise.

Over the last few seasons I’ve volunteered,  raced 70.3s in Williamsburg and the Poconos, and done a sprint in Montclair, VA with Rev3 and I’ve come to adore the organization for the way they love triathlon and triathletes. I also watched a Speed Sherpa friend have an absolute blast on the Rev3 team last year and I wanted what she was having. (I’d also like to podium consistently and beastfully like Katie Palavecino but that’s another story and lifetime.) So with Philly and a second BQ behind me, and an invigorated commitment to all things Rev3 in front of me, I decided to end a pretty good 2017 (uh, pretty good race-wise and not in any general geopolitical sense) with Rev3’s Santa Shuffle 10K in Haymarket, VA on Dec. 9th.

I thought for sure I’d get a big group of Speed Sherpas to join me at a local, short fun race but the only one who took me up on the offer was Sherpette, Melissa. (The rest of you are dead to me. JKloveyoumeanit!) Quality over quantity though, because Melissa is awesome company – especially since she agreed to my suggestion that we race in ridiculous onesies. (In my defense, I had just bought an amaaaazing Rudolph onesie from Amazon and upon trying it on promptly declared my intention to wear it and only it until the end of winter, so naturally I felt the need to sweat out 6.2 miles in the furry get-up. I HAD MADE A COMMITMENT.) It turned out Melissa was the proud owner of a psychodelic onesie and questionable decision-making faculties, so she was onboard with the plan.

Leading up to race day I became increasingly concerned that running in a full suit of felt might not be the most comfortable thing in the world, and I feared I would hate my onesie and my choices by the first mile marker. Melissa expressed similar concerns, but neither of us backed down. Then the forecast began to turn frigid and snowy, and the onesies didn’t seem like such terrible ideas. (They still didn’t seem like great ideas, but by Dec. 8th they seemed much more survivable than they had on Dec. 2nd.)

On the morning of Saturday, Dec. 9th, I woke around 6:30 am to dress and head west to way-TFO-suburban Haymarket, Virginia. And I realized logistically, that since it was so cold out, and since I was planning on wearing very little under my onesie to run – just tiny shorts and a tank top – I was going to have to actually drive to Haymarket dressed as Rudolph the Reindeer. There was nowhere at the race site to change and I didn’t really want to be the perve changing in her car at a public park in Virginia. So I pulled on my itty bitty shorts and tank, dreaming of summer, and then zipped myself into my furry, questionable #OOTD. I raced as fast as I could from my front door to my car parked on the street, and made the trek to Haymarket crossing my hooves that I wouldn’t get pulled over or entertain too many truckers as they peered down into my reindeer-conducted Subaru. (The weather was snowy and icy enough that I decided to take Scott’s car instead of my seasonally-challenged lil Mini Cooper.)

I arrived at the James S Long Park a little before 9am and texted Melissa, embarrassed to leave the safe-ish harbor of my vehicle to walk alone in my onesie up the hill to packet pickup and the start line. Fortunately she had arrived around the same time and we were able to do the five minute uphill trek together. It’s amazing how a thing that feels mortifying when you’re on your own suddenly becomes a fun inside joke when you add a friend. I enjoyed the laughs we got from onlookers, and was happy to see we weren’t the only ones who had dressed up (weird) for the occasion.

It was bitterly cold out, and in addition to the couple inches of white powder already on the ground, more was coming down from the sky. I’m not great at predicting how hot or cold I’ll be in my clothes during a race, so I was still a little worried I would sweat through Rudolph and be uncomfortable, but as the snow fell I also thought maybe I’d in fact be more comfortable than the people who’d opted to wear actual run clothes.

We picked up our numbers and I got to meet a few new Rev3 people who were racing or kindly volunteering on such an icy day. At one point an overtaxed space heater gave up on life and melted – it was really cold – wreaking a little bit of havoc. At another more distressing point, I realized I had to hit the porta jon before racing and had to unzip myself in the freezing basically-outside stall and shiver-pee while keeping the onesie from touching the nasty porta potty floor.

Fortunately we didn’t have to hang out in the cold for too long before the 9:30am start. It was far too small and lowkey an event for any sort of corral situation. Everyone just gathered in the starting chute which would double later as the finisher’s chute and waited for the gun. Melissa and I were two of the last people to join the group there, so I was towards the middle of the pack as we waited to begin. I also can’t claim to have harbored any dreams about laying down a big 10K in my reindeer costume so I stayed pretty passive about my start position.

At 9:30 we were set loose on the double out and back loop 10K course. It was a few hundred meters downhill first to get to the Haymarket sidewalks that would comprise the bulk of the race. As soon as I was over the start line I tried to break free of the clump I was in, immediately realizing I was gunning for a little more speed than most of the pack.

By the time I was turning right onto the main stretch of course I was out in the front with a handful of other runners. I was clocking mid-7s, which would have been a pretty average 10K pace, except the sky was showering us in freezing sideways snow, and as soon as we turned out of the Park we were climbing. The race website calls the course mostly flat and that is, well, that is not true.

Haymarket is where you bring your bike in the DMV area when you want to ride serious hills. I had kind of considered that fact when planning for the race and then breezed past it knowing we wouldn’t be getting too far from the James S Long Park where the race started and ended – it wasn’t like we’d be getting tens of miles away where I’ve bike-struggled in the past. But the two loop or really, 4 out-and-backs course turns right out of the Park and heads up one long hill until a turnaround then back down that hill, past the park entrance onto another long uphill to the second turnaround and again back down. The 5K runners had to do this once and turned back into James S Long Park and the 10K runners did the two ascent/descents twice.

As I turned right and started the first long slog uphill, I also turned into the wind and found that, even in my furry getup I was still cold. The bare skin between the top of my onesie zipper and my chin (I guess that’s called your neck) was stinging in the wind and snow. I was wearing a Rev3 buff around my ears and had worn a headband around my wrist incase I needed extra coverage in the weather. As I climbed I gracelessly yanked the buff down to protect my neck and chin and pulled the extra headband over my ears. I thanked early-morning-Liz’s rare moment of foresight on that one.

As I adjusted my headgear my heartrate began to climb with my legs, even though my speed was pretty meh. I knew I hadn’t fully recovered in the less-than-three weeks since the Philly Marathon (and stomach flu I’d caught the same day) but I was expecting more from my body than it was giving me. The first mile was basically all that long climb and I turned in a disappointing 8:04. I hadn’t shown up to win, or even to podium, but I had shown up wanting to run well and I felt that I wasn’t. The footing was a little slippery, but not slick enough to justify that pace.

Just after the first mile we turned around and headed back down the hill and I was able to pick up a bit more speed, but my heartrate didn’t want to budge. At least I was more comfortable with the wind and snow at my back, and despite the high BPM I didn’t feel overheated at all in my plush reindeer onepiece – by the time I had descended the hill I was mulling wearing it for every winter race from now on.

I generally like out-and-back courses for the community they create. You get to see everyone in the race, whether they’re ahead of or behind you, and in triathlons and Rev3 events like this one, there are always high fives and words of encouragement as people run past each other. My new Rev3 teammate, Robert was proving this point dressed as a buff Santa and keeping everyone merry in the wintry conditions.

Out-and-backs are also good when you’re feeling (and racing) competitive(ly). You can see who’s ahead of you and how far back the people behind you are; this information lets you adjust accordingly and is also a kick in your spandex (or fur as the case may be) to keep the fight alive. When you’re not running your best it’s less great. I could see women in front of me as I approached and then made that first turnaround, and with my high heartrate I wasn’t gaining on them.

When we started up the second climb after passing the Park entrance I had accepted that it wasn’t my best morning and I wouldn’t be mounting any winners’ blocks at the end. But I was having a really good time running in the snow in my ridiculous costume. People were laughing at the onesie and I enjoyed putting smiles on people’s faces. There were kids out volunteering at the couple water (ice?) stations and there were moms and dads at the back of the race pack pushing littleones in strollers; it was especially fun when the youngin’s would wave and laugh at Rudolph as I/she ran by.

The second turnaround was at the top of hill number two about halfway between the second and third miles. A couple young women passed me there and I shrugged it off and started to descend back towards the Park and towards the second lap. Miles two and three were faster – 7:39 mostly downhill and then 7:48 over a mix of ascent and descent – but still not paces I would have been happy with for a cold-weather, non-multisport 10k. I didn’t have it in me to chase down the women who were getting away from me and bumping me further from podium-contention.

As the entrance to the Park came back into view (and the footing got slushier) I saw the handful of women in front of me all turning right. At first I was confused, and then I remembered that some people were running half what I was. I had totally forgotten that some of those women who were in front of me were not actually my 10k competition.

I approached the Park and could hear a volunteer calling for 5k runners to turn right back to the finish and for 10k runners to continue straight for their second loop. Just about everyone was turning right. I ran past the Park and volunteer straight onto hill number three (or hill number one for the second time) under suddenly-changed circumstances.

About halfway up this second mile-long climb a couple people cheered for me saying Rudolph was in the lead. I was pretty sure there was still one 10k female ahead of me but I was elated to have gone so quickly from no place to second. I had been having fun but now I was having extra fun, despite the uphill headwind and face-snow.

That hill wiped me out again and my split dropped back down to 8:07. A few minutes before I wouldn’t have cared but now I had to hold that second place slot. The third/penultimate turnaround came a little after the fourth mile marker and as I reversed and headed downhill I scanned the women behind me to gauge how much space I had. Robert snapped me out of my competitive streak with a high five as I ran past him, reminding me to keep having fun and not take it too seriously – I was still dressed as Rudolph and he as Santa Abs after all.

Reaching the bottom of the hill I was both having a great time and feeling the competition. My heartrate was high and my pace still not where I would have wanted but it was doing the trick and I just had a mile and a half to hold it. I climbed the last hill and hit the final turnaround a little after mille five. I hadn’t seen where the first woman was – with some people on their first laps and some on their second it had become harder to tell who was ahead and who behind – but I was sure I was still holding strong at second. Running back down the hill I scanned the competition and saw that I had plenty of cushion between myself and the third place female – I wasn’t in any danger of being overtaken.

Halfway down that final hill and mile I passed a group of ladies who were running up it on the other side and screamed at me that I was the first woman. Without absorbing the information I smiled and whooped and then got a few steps further and thought, ‘wait, am I?’ I hadn’t actually laid eyes on this phantom female who I was sure was up ahead of me. Had I made her up? Had I just been so sure that there was no way this far-from-my-best-10k performance could nab me a win that I’d fabricated a faster competitor?

I was starting to think, ‘maybe I am winning’ as I finished the second lap and turned right back into the Park and toward the finish line. I ran past the volunteers there and they too shouted that I was going to be the female winner. I was shocked and ecstatic.

As I turned my watch buzzed to mark the 6th mile – 7:47. My heartrate was still epically high and I knew I wasn’t in any danger of being passed in the last .2 miles so I didn’t step on the gas. I stayed at a 7:47 pace up a final climb to the finisher’s chute. Once back at the start/finish I wasn’t sure which direction to run through the chute as there were no signs or volunteers. I picked the most logical direction and just went with it – and fortunately I picked right. I crossed the finish line at a really unimpressive 48:27 for an average pace of 7:49.

A few minutes later the second place female came up the hill – she had a couple decades on me and had been encouraging every time I passed her on the course so I was there cheering her in. Melissa was not too far behind that, winning her age group in her excellent tie-dye onesie!

We were both excited and kind of floored to have nabbed the top of the blocks – and dressed like lunatics. We agreed that these ridiculous get-ups that we’d feared sweating miserably through had ended up being incredibly comfortable in the wintry weather. Not only were they warm, they allowed for all sorts of range of motion – no chafing! I had been happy in my wardrobe choice the whole way and will absolutely rewear it in the next Santa Shuffle.

As my heartrate finally slowed our body temps plummeted and Melissa and I agreed we’d need more layers to get through the podium ceremony. We hustled back to our cars for dry socks and gloves and coats. I happily pulled the Uggs about which I have no shame over my furry legs. Then we boogied back up the hill to take advantage of the french toast breakfast and stand atop the blocks in our fabulous get-ups.

After the ceremony – at which I also won a prize for my onesie! – I went out to my work wife’s house to meet her new baby boy. She also lives in Virginia and I just assume that all places in Virginia are close together. (They’re not.) I stayed in my costume because duh – baby-Rudolph photo opp! (Yes, this meant more driving in my onesie.)

After that I rounded out the Virginia day with Speed Sherpa’s holiday party where I decided to wear regular human clothes. (Oh and party hosts Coach Josh and his wife, Erica let [encouraged] me [to] bathe at their house before joining the celebration.) All in all it was a pretty spectacular day of friends and silliness and winning! I know most years that performance wouldn’t be enough to win it and I can’t blame the hills or the slick roads. If Rudolph wants to light the way again at the next Shuffle she’s gonna have to show up a little harder. But first, summer!

I’m spicing things up here to keep you, dear reader, (mommy!) on your toes and skipping some race reports I’m behind on to bring you my download of the Inaurgural National Women’d DC Half Marathon the week in which it actually happened. I’ll return to those other races – those reports are all in various stages of draft form – but wanted to try getting all my thoughts down and out into the universe when they were still fresh and people might actually still care. Without further (usual) ado:

At some point in 2017 I got an email from the National Women’s race organizers with an invite to register for a new DC half marathon in 2018. It was most of a year in advance, and I wasn’t doing anything on April 29th, 2018, so I thought, ‘sure! I’ll sign up for lady-running!’ And that was pretty much the last time I thought about it until I started getting athlete emails a week before race day.

After the Rock n Roll Half Marathon on March 10th (race report coming…I won’t say soon…but eventually) and the Cherry Blossom Ten Miler April 8th, (Id.) work had taken over and I’d started mentally shifting gears from running to triathlon. I had nabbed the sub-1:40 13.1 I was gunning for at RnR (spoiler alert!) too, so I was already resting on my laurels a month into the 2018 season. I’d given this race so little thought that when Coach Josh loaded up my training peaks workouts on Monday I realized he didn’t even know I was running it. Feeling like the most neglectful, half-assed client ever I let him know I in fact had a race that weekend and then didn’t really think about it again until about 48 hours before I’d have to toe a start line somewhere in the District of Columbia.

Race organizers hadn’t done much in the way of advertising or pumping up the event so some of the neglect wasn’t my fault. Besides some emails here and there the general radio silence regarding this inaugural event didn’t inspire a ton of confidence or excitement in its execution, or even its existence. Part of me was concerned I was the only one registered and that I’d been duped out of some bills by a nonexistent online scammer – an athlete-targeting catfish situation. Upon receiving and perusing the athlete guide though I discovered there was indeed a packet pickup scheduled to take place in various Pacer’s stores around the DMV area. While the lack of an actual expo reinvigorated some of my initial concerns, at least I was being directed to real running stores that I knew for a fact existed.

I was going out of town for work Friday through Saturday afternoon so I stopped by the closest Pacer’s Friday morning to collect my packet for a half marathon I was like 65% sure was real at that point. Upon entering I found a tri friend, Dustin, checking women in. That seemed like a good sign – Dustin is a real person after all. (At least as real as any of us are in this simulation!) I approached the almost-surely real Dustin and he looked me up in some sort of computer database, found my info, and signed me in – more progress! Then he picked up a number from a chronological stack, entered it into the computer, and handed it to me. There were apparently no corrals, this was just a first-come-first-served bib situation. My confidence in this race’s existence which had been at an all-time high around 80% upon seeing Dustin and his computer now plummeted to the low 40s. I continued down the packet line though and got a tshirt – cotton and a children’s large – and saw a lot of other women picking up their apropo-of-no-seeding bibs, so heading into the weekend I was like 50-50 that I was running a real race on Sunday.

Mid-Friday I headed out for a work retreat in Cambridge, MD which was filled with wine-ing and schmoozing and staying up too late (for me that means 11:30pm) and generally not ideal pre-race type behavior. I got back to DC around 4pm on Saturday, took the dogs out, ate an entire Red Baron frozen pizza – not a personal pizza, a large feed-a-family-of-at-least-two-or-three pizza, and put together a spin class for the next day because race or not I was teaching at noon. At around 10pm I remembered I was running a half marathon, glanced at Sunday’s weather for clothes-planning purposes, posted a cynical instagram picture about my prospects, and was in bed around 11pm.

Josh often says the sleep the night before a race isn’t as important as the sleep two nights before, but in any case, I slept like crap Friday and Saturday and pretty much hated all of my choices (including that whole pizza pie) when the alarm went off at 5:41am.

Yes. 5:41. Because that was the number I had alighted upon six hours earlier as the last possible second I could get up and still make it to the (stilll hypothetical at this point) start line by 7am. I got up, dressed in whatever I had hastily chosen the night before as appropriate for the mid-spring, mid-climate change apocalypse, mid-40s weather we were getting, and ordered a Lyft.

The start area was back behind the Tidal Basin on the National Mall – a fact I’d learned only right before bed Saturday – so I plugged in the WWII Memorial as my destination figuring that was the closest landmark we’d be able to access given how roads were (hopefully) being closed. (I still harbored concerns that if there was indeed a real race we would be running it on sidewalks and into oncoming traffic.) We made it almost to WWII by 6:30am, and I disembarked to hoof it the rest of the way – about a mile walk.

I joined a sea of spandex-clad women which seemed like a good sign, though really that could be most weekend mornings on the Mall. Halfway to the start my tummy started rumbling like it had seen all the lycra-adorned ladies and now knew a race was at hand. Not trusting there to be sufficient (or any) porta potties I ducked into a bathroom near the MLK Jr Memoral and sated my grumpy belly. (Ok maybe it was race nerves, but more likely it was the entire Red Baron pepperoni pizza needing out.)

Because or in spite of my last-minute alarm-setting and laissez fairre approach to dressing for and arriving at the race, I managed to hit the start line perfectly at around 6:50 for a 7am start. It was just early enough to get properly positioned but not enough time for the chilly morning to become too torturous while standing and waiting.

As it was a self-seeding situation, there were pace-markers around the one long corral. Each marker denoted a full minute span of potential paces starting with 6:30-7:30 minutes per mile. I found the one that indicated 7:30-8:30 minute miles and squeezed through the metal barricades. I headed to the front of this small group of women. There was just about no one in the 6:30-7:30 area ahead of me, and a race organizer quickly came by and had me and the couple women around me move up to fill that space. It was little confusing and one of my neighbors asked nervously if we were still in the 7:30-8:30 group. I told her, stone-faced, “no, you now have to do a 6:30 mile the whole way.” She looked terrified. Some people don’t get me.

Right on time at 6:55 the National Anthem was sung and then a small elite(?) group ahead of us was sent off shortly thereafter. Then our 6:30-8:30 group was marched forward and just after 7am we were off. Kind of.

I had texted Josh the day before that I was feeling, and I quote, “blaaaaaaah” about the whole race, and he told me to just use it as a catered workout on some fatigued legs. I hadn’t really internalized what that was going to mean for me though: Was I going to race off my heartrate? Was I going to come out swinging and see what happened? Was I just gonna wing it off perceived exertion? As I traversed the start sensors I decided in the moment for a cross between the latter two. I didn’t want to run too uncomfortable but I realized I would be unhappy with anything too much slower than my recently-set PR of 1:38:57. (Again, I’m totally gonna write a RocknRoll report, it just might not be till July of 2019.)

So I decided in the very moment that my feet hit the sensors and my fingers, the Garmin, that I would go out in the 7:30s and see what happened. In what was maybe the first conscious decision I made about this race since the day I’d registered I opted not to look at my heartrate at all. I didn’t want to get into my head or get bogged down in too many metrics. I had been feeling lately that there was a disconnect between the heartrate I was capable of sustaining and what I intellectually thought was an appropriate number so it seemed better not to worry about that. I would find something in the 7:30s and just see how it felt and go from there.

Funny thing about self-seeding though: people are liars. Vain-glorious, delusional liars. This race really throws a wrench in my previously-stated men are worse about this than women theory because a number of the women who had chosen the clearly-marked 6:30-7:30/7:30-8:30 groups were rocking 9s and 10s. Now there is absolutely nothing wrong with a 9 or 10 minute mile, but you knew you weren’t going to run a 7 so what are you doing?

I think the other problem is that there is a big difference between 7:30 and 8:30 miles. Really in thinking through the begining of the race that I think was the biggest problem. Most runners probably selected the appropriate pace window, but those windows were too wide and it created an irritating traffic jam down the first stretch. I would guess that a pace:population chart in an average race probably looks like a bell curve, so if organizers want to stick with self-seeding, they should plan for very few 6:30-ers and a whole lotta 9s and 10s, and mark the corral accordingly.

The race began heading southeast from below the tidal pool and down and around Hains Point. The sun was coming up but the air was crisp and felt great once we were moving. I loved that we started off on Hains and got it over with. It’s a pretty place to run, but true to form, once we started heading back north just after the Mile 2 marker the headwind picked up. My first two miles were a very comfortable-feeling 7:34 and 7:33 respectively, while my next three into the wind dropped into high 7:30s that I had to fight for.

The first two mile markers also seemed to be dead on the distance with my GPS, but even though we’d only rounded one turn – which I had hugged – mile 3 seemed to be .1 too long. Then mile 4 seemed to be back in sync with my GPS, but for a moment I was very anxious that the course would continue to get longer and my finish time would reflect it. (Yes I’d had to weave around the slower runners but I hadn’t weaved a tenth of a mile and that wouldn’t explain how the distance markers rectified themselves.)

The night before the race and right up to the start line I had been contemplating only running a few miles of it and then heading home. I’d been having some discomfort in my left hip and upper quad which felt like it was bordering on becoming a bigger issue. I’m always trying – biking, running, and lifting – to even out my right-side favoring monodexterity and I think I just overcorrected in the weeks preceding. I hadn’t run since Tuesday and was feeling much better, but I was also mentally giving myself permission to bow out if it was bothering me. Or if I found I just really wasn’t feeling the morning. Over the first few miles that left quad was speaking to me, objecting a little to the exertion. I focused on my form as I ran down Hains Point and by the time I got to that misplanted Mile 3 marker I seemed to have worked out whatever was going on. I didn’t feel any hip or quad pain the rest of the run. By focusing on perceived exertion I think I held back enough to keep my form in check and keep excessive wear and tear off the joints.

Around Mile 5 we ran back near the start area and began an out and back on Rock Creek Park that comprised most of the race. It was pretty similar to the Nation’s Tri bike course and I observed the many pot holes that were easy enough to navigate by foot but were less so on wheels. I got myself back into the low 7:30s and out of the wind felt much more comfortable hanging out there. The pack had thinned and I was far enough towards the front that there were only a few woman around me. I’d worried a little that as the sun came up the long sleeves I’d worn would be too warm but I’d thoughtlessly lucked into the perfect amount of clothing for the climate.

Hitting the halfway point I was just over 50 minutes and I started doing the mental math. The way I was currently running I would be a little over 1:40, and upon saying that number to myself I decided I didn’t like it. I knew if I picked up the pace just a little I could come in slightly under 1:40 and I would feel immensely better about my morning. I had been holding back most of the first seven miles and had plenty of gas in the tank, so I stepped it up into the high 7:20s.

That still felt pretty good. I was far from maxed out when we hit the turn around at mile 8, but I was also still feeling like it wasn’t really my morning – I had barely thought about the race basically until it was actually under way, and I was having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea of really racing it. I held the high 7:20s for miles nine and ten and then ran my numbers again.

At this point I realized I was actually doing a lot better than I’d realized or expected. Even though I’d been running RnR harder than this race, that course had included a big climb at the 10k mark which had thrown my averages off in a way this course wasn’t going to do. If I could push the last few miles I could come in close to my PR, and I with only a 5k to go I knew I’d be mad at myself if I didn’t at least try for something under 1:39. So, still running off of perceived exertion and eschewing heartrate, I picked up the pace again and dropped mile 11 into the low 7:10s.

Besides the energy I’d been conserving, after the turnaround I got a boost in my confidence that made a big difference. I always find it inspiring to in races with a turnaround to see the elite runners fly by you in the opposite direction. I love looking for faces I know like Meb in this year’s Cherry Blossom, and my favorite is to look for and scream for the first female competitor. This wasn’t a big elite field, so even though I’m nowhere near those 5 and 6 minute miles, I was in the first handful of women after the turnaround. It was the coolest feeling. I was running mostly alone, just a sprinkling of women around me, and as I continued over the last few miles I could see the crowded field of ladies working their way towards the switchback. It totally made me feel like an elite badass. No I wasn’t running elite mile times, but it gave me an unabashed ego boost and made me want to push a little harder toward the finish – to earn that spot up front.

When I hit the Mile 11 marker I again did the adding and the multiplying and the carry-the-one-ing and thought, if I can really drop the hammer over the last 2.1 miles I could actually come in under 1:38. I wanted to be able to sprint the last mile point one so for mile 12 I stayed in the 7:10s, feeling prepared to turn in a final mile in the 7:00s.

I felt like I was holding back just enough to get that done or maybe even run a sub-7 for the last 1.1miles, when just after the Mile 12 marker the half marathon course merged with the 8K course. And here, with a 1:37:something in reach, is where the race planners fulfilled the very low expectations I had for them.

I went from only being able to see two other runners anywhere near me, both pushing for those low, low 7s, to an instant wall of women running (and walking) what I would guess (and based on the 8K’s 7:30 start time) were 12 and 13 minute miles. The 8K-ers were taking over all lanes of traffic and there were no signs or volunteers anywhere to direct people. At first I thought these women were just starting their half marathon since we were back tracking over the north end of Hains Point, and then I thought with a pang of panic that I must have gone off-course somehow thanks to the absolute absence of any sort of direction.

I looked around frantically for anyone to ask or any other 13.1 athletes and in both I came up empty. I literally thought about stopping and backtracking. I slowed way down, not just to weave around these women, (who I didn’t want to be angry with but honestly, I was, ) but also to scan everything I could see (I’m 4’10” so that’s not much) for some sort of guidance.

We came around the final turn and I finally I got a glimpse of the finish line ahead – according to my watch it was a half mile away.I now understood that organizers had just done a garbage job of merging the two distances and I was still on course. I ran the numbers and realized my 1:37 was fading from reach.  I stepped on the gas as much as I could with the oblivious 8K joggers still trotting way too many abreast across the wide road. The headwind was the worst it had been the whole morning which added to what must have been a sky-high heartrate but I charged as much as I could.

I passed the mile 13 marker and looked down toward the finish line. It was much further than .1 miles away. A DC east-to-west block is generally about .1 miles, so I feel like I’ve gotten pretty good at eyeballing the distance, and this was way overshooting it. I sprinted as fast as I could, but even laying it all on the line, that miscalculated 160 meters was the final nail in the coffin of the 1:37 should have been mine.

I crossed the finish line at 1:38:45 and felt elated and furious. It was a 12 second PR! Totally surpassed my expectations for the morning. Hell, eleven miles ago I’d been considering quitting; and eleven hours ago I wasn’t convinced there was actually a real race happening! A PR was massive in the face of my pre-race doubts. But I had earned a 1:37:59. If the course had been measured correctly or, more importantly, if planners had thought through the implications of ending concurrent 8k and 13.1 mile races at the same place it would have been mine.

Most races measure a little long so really I was angry about the way the last mile point one had been orchestrated. The road was wide; it would have been so simple to lay down cones to divide the two distances. Organizers could have put up a sign to let runners know we were on course, and to ask the 8K-ers to be mindful of the half runners. I finished 58th overall out of almost 3500 women, so when my course merged with the shorter course, there weren’t a lot of us running the half and the women doing the 8K were pretty oblivious to the situation. In fact, in the final 100m when the chutes finally were divided and marked by distance, I had 8K-ers run across my toes to make it into the proper channel. I honestly think organizers didn’t concieved that, by starting the 8K 30 minutes after the 13.1, even though we had to run almost three times the distance, there would be half marathoners finishing when the 8K was still wrapping up.

Ok I’ll stop kvetching about the last 8% of a race that was for the most part a surprisingly great experience. I don’t think it was benefitting from low expectations either – it was a just a beautiful day on a nice course and my preference to be surrounded by female athletes is no secret. I know I’m not the only half marathoner who was frustrated by the way the last mile was handled so I expect, if the National Women’s Half lives on to a second year, race planners will probably address their mistake. And if planners do decide to keep going with it, and they send me an email at some point this summer, and I’m free that day, I will sign up. And maybe I’ll even tell Josh about it more than a few days out. I’ll probably still eat a whole pizza the night before though; hell that might be my new every-race night-before dinner now!