I’ve been winter-neglecting this blog again. This year I didn’t just forget though, I’ve had a rough couple months and training and racing felt really trivial. I couldn’t get it up to care about 2017, and I can’t say that that’s totally changed, but I’m going to make the effort because I love to race and I love to write, and I’ve been really moved by how many people have told me they read all about the pain and perseverance of my Ironman and so here I am again.

I don’t want to get too personal or political here, but suffice it to say I’m a professional Democrat in DC and I work in healthcare policy, so it’s been hard. I thought the world would be very different than it is right now and when I spend the day fighting to keep people insured and to expand access to healthcare – literal life or death issues – I feel a little silly expending energy caring about PRs and Training Peaks data.

That’s all I’ll say politically here. It’s what I do all day, and this is a tri blog, and most of my readers (hi Mom!) are probably hanging on here by a thread. Plus, it’s not the only thing mentally messing up my 2017 season. After a huge 2016 fighting like hell for and achieving big concrete goals – qualify for Boston and complete a full Ironman – it’s been difficult to figure out what this year should be about. In 2016 every pre-BQ run I imagined the thrill of crossing the finish line and knowing I’d be Beantown-bound. All summer during hours upon hours in the saddle, in the pool, on my feet, I heard Mike Reilly’s voice calling my name at the finish line. When training felt like dying and all I wanted was sleep, thirsting for those moments got me through it. I don’t have anything like that going on in 2017 – I think my Ironman was so miserable the m-dot withdrawal is just hitting now – so what on earth do I have to get out of bed that extra hour earlier for? What are my hard (and hopefully fast?) goals to make the effort worth it?

There’s the obvious one of actually running Boston, but with that race looming only two weeks away I haven’t been able to get my run to the place it was when I qualified 10 months ago. I’ve been treating this like, ‘look I qualified, now let me slowly jog in peace!’ But then Boston-bound socialites de media post their fast AF training days and I feel like maybe I’m not approaching this correctly. I’m excited for the race and think it will be inspiring to finally be there, I just wish I could have gotten my heart more into the prep.

I think this seasonal-athletic-affective disorder is starting to reverse itself though. As winter finally slinks away, as I learn to live with my job’s new realities, and as the first race of 2017 gives me a much-needed confidence boost, I’m picking myself up and recommitting to this sport. After all running and triathlon-ing are my (just-as-expensive-as-actually-seeing-a-doctor) therapy, and I need that sanity-saving release.

——————— Cherry Blossom 10 Miler Race Report—————-

So right, yes, the race. Assuming (which I should never do) that you’ve made it this far into my apparent-memoir. After being out of town for the Rock n Roll DC 13.1, which usually kicks off my season, I instead got things started with the Cherry Blossom Ten Miler. And thank the run gods it was pleasant and not a Potomac typhoon this year like it was in 2016 – I don’t know if my race psyche could have handled it this year.

I haven’t been feeling very fast and really wasn’t sure what to expect out of myself for this one. Since I’m two weeks out from Boston I threw a couple warm-up miles on to get to the start line, and figured these would give me a read on how my legs were feeling. They felt slow and heavy and so, in keeping with my stellar attitude this year, I gave up on the race before I even got started.

I got to the start area around 7:05am for a 7:30 start time, which was the perfect amount of time for my first pre-race porta excursion of 2017. (Pro tip: there were three tiers of potties but people only seemed aware of the first row so while those schmucks waited and waited I got right to business! [God I’m gross, sorry.]) I made it to my corral around 7:20am and squeezed into the middle of the crowd.

I was in the red wave, which was the first full wave behind the elite runners and handful of sub-elites in the yellow wave. Normally I would have bobbed and weaved towards the front of the throng but being the debbie downer that I am/was, I found the 8 min/mile pacer and pessimistically waited a few feet back assuming I wouldn’t even be able to hold anything in the 7s. I looked around and misanthropically noted the many people rocking purple and blue bibs, (as well as a tall man whose name I’m pretty sure wasn’t actually “Jennifer,”) and resigned myself to their company.

Just after 7:30am the announcer called our wave to the start. I trudged along passively with the crowd as I cued up my Garmin. Stepping glumly over the sensors I hit start, picked up my feet, and everything changed.

As I got going I felt great! The legs that had weighed so heavy and slow before the race (like immediately before as well as the five months leading up to it) were suddenly turning over they way I wanted them to and my old marathon pace of 7:50 which has been so tough to maintain of late felt easy.

So easy that I wanted to step on the gas. But through my pre-start Eeyore-ing in the corral I’d set myself up very poorly to get anywhere very fast. I moved to the sides but even the people there were slower than I wanted to be, and running onto the grass around the road was much harder work than running on the pavement. Not only had I started too far back (like seriously, grumpy Liz? You had to start behind the 8:00 min/mile crowd?) the corral-jumpers in their pastel bibs were of course running paces that would have been perfect in the waves to which they were assigned. (Sorry [not sorry] but this makes you an asshole.)

As we ran south of the Mall and out and back on Memorial Bridge, I averaged miles in the 7:50s and itched to break free. I wasted plenty of energy and added mileage weaving through the crowd until mile four when space and my pace finally opened up.

The sun came out but the temperature was still damn near perfect in the 40s, and miles 4-7 were truly some of the best I’ve ever run in a race. I kept my pace in the 7:20s minus two water stations, and for stretches I even held onto 7:10/15. Every time I looked at my Garmin and saw those numbers was a little adrenaline shot to my Nikes. I checked my heart rate and it was high but RPE-wise it felt exactly right for a ten mile race.

Running down Hains Point (miles 6-7) someone next to me exclaimed pleasant surprise that the cherry blossoms had miraculously survived the late March freeze. This observation got my head up and eyes off my wrist. I made a point to look around and appreciate the weather, the scenery, the greenery, and these fast and happy people who were helping me hold my pace.

Hains Point-ed (with me?) us back north and into a bit of a head wind around mile eight. I was also developing a small stitch in my right side which has been happening of late, I think a result of the six-week-long sinus infection that has really gotten in the way of my breathing. (Shamless sleeve-nose-blowing now rivals pre-race porta potty parties as my grossest run habit.) I was forced to slow down to around 7:50 for a few minutes as I breathed into my starboard oblique and made nice with the breeze. It was hard to be too aggravated remembering at this Point (still with me?) in 2016 I had to battle sustained 20mph winds to the dome.

When we got to mile nine I dug a little deeper and pushed myself back into the 7:40s for the last two miles and psyched myself up for the climb right before the finish line. When I got to that hill – around 800m from the end – my heart rate was high but I figured I could live in the 180bpm discomfort for 90 seconds. The worst thing is finishing with gas left in the tank, so I was happy to feel like shit as I crossed those final sensors.

My official time was 1:16:50 which is better than I thought I had in me today/this year. But it’s not a PR, and I think it could have been if I hadn’t wallowed in that pre-race pity-party and had instead staked a claim to the front of the corral. (I attacked this race the way I usually attack a swim; which is to say, I did not attack this race but admitted defeat at least twenty minutes before the National Anthem.)

All in all though, a slightly bitter but mostly sweet start to the season. Through 2016 training I felt like I’d made a new home for myself in the 7:30 range where I’d previously lived in the 7:50s. Recently I’ve been questioning that and wondering if at 33 I’d already stopped getting faster. Now I know I can actually hang in the 7:20s and I know I’m still improving. (I mean I’ve got a whole year till I move up to AG 35-39, c’mon!)  And once again Coach Josh has proven that I just need to trust him. (This is not to be read as any sort of promise not to fight him every step of the way.)

Scott and the hounds met me at the finish with a warm coat and kisses all around. We meandered the two miles back home as the sun came all the way up turning the perfect run weather into just plain perfect weather. My cousin Mike had come in from Annapolis to stay with us and run, so we all met up and put the calories back in. (Shhh, don’t tell but carb-free Mike even had some grits at brunch!) He and my cousin, Carol will be racing Boston as well and talking to him this weekend has gotten me more excited for the experience. (Plus maybe his race presence is good luck? I’m going to tell myself that.)

I needed today as a kick in the capris to buck up and be more positive about 2017. I still don’t have any big goals to hang my swim cap on, but I’ve got memories of a great kickoff race and the ego boost that yes, I can still go fast when it’s time. Jury’s still out on whether Boston will be “time” but it will be something and I can honestly say I’m looking forward to that something now.