Race!

I raced yesterday: 10K on the erg. It went well. Almost perfectly, as a matter of fact. In the process, I was reminded of just how challenging, gut wrenching, and mentally, physically, and spiritually demanding a 10 kilometer race can be. It may be the perfect race distance.

My 5K race time predicts a 37:00 10K. Since my training had been skewed more towards the endurance end of things, and since I'd gained fitness since my 5K race (3 weeks ago) I decided to target 36:40, or a 1:50 per 500m split. I checked in with John, my training partner and, on this day, sole competititor. He acknowledged that he had exactly the same target time. In the back of my mind I etched 36:30 as the time which would define a great race.

In my experience, the key to a 10K race is kilometers 6, 7, and 8. At that point in the race, questions cloud the mind: Is the body still willing? Has the spirit been broken? Why am I doing this?

Predictably, I came through 5K in pretty good shape: 18:14.1. A quick glance at John's monitor assured me that I was slightly ahead of him (we were both rowing on the setting that shows, in addition to current 500m pace, average 500m split, I was at 1:49.4, John was at 1:50.0).

Into kilometers 6, 7, and 8 we went. My pace drifted, slowing to an aggregate 1:49.7 By 8k. A glance at John's monitor indicated that, incredibly, he was gaining speed! He was now at 1:49.8.

With 2K to go I fought to ignore the nagging questions challenging body, mind, and spirit. I picked up pace again and held off the steady rise in average pace. John continued to gain, however. It was a dead heat with a kilometer to go.

Heart rate rising, I pulled a 1:48 500m to bring my pace down to 1:49.6 with 500m to go. Confident, I glanced at John's monitor. 1:49.5!! Shit!

I pulled harder, ignoring the urge to back off and recover a bit in advance of the final surge. In our 5K race, John had beaten me by 1.1 seconds. I'd kicked with 150m to go. Afterwards, I thought that if I'd kicked a little earlier, I would've beat him.

With 200m to go, I found another gear. Could I hold it? I shut my eyes and pulled--form be damned, I added every upper body muscle and fiber to my quad and glute drive. I opened my eyes and focused on the monitor through the lactic acid fog. 83m to go, 1:35 pace. 8 strokes. Now 5. Now done.

Shit! John stopped a split second before I did. My time: 36:25.4. John: 36:24.8.

Afterwards, over a carne asada burrito and a Sebago IPA (well, 2 of them, but that's a story for a different blog) I congratulated John (Geary's Winter Ale and chicken burrito)and reflected on how good I felt about the race and how great the beer and burrito tasted. Then I picked up the tab, and thought how much better it all would've tasted if it'd been his tab.

Oh well, there's always the next race.

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