Cowboy Hazel

Strange day today. Started out with a jog down to the stairs of the Met, where I met up with my old running partner Sarah who was in town for the weekend. We ran into Elizabeth and her friend, chatted for a bit, then went off to the starting line. Sarah's wave started but I couldn't see any of the race from where I was standing. I moved into the starting chute as soon as they opened it and got right to the front. Then, there was nothing to do but wait a long and agonizing wait.



Adrenaline was pumping through me and I was chomping at the bit. Finally, the starting horn and we were off. The guy to my left crashed and was trampled. More adrenaline flowed. 63 seconds later I was already at 75th Street. I didn't need any complex math skills to realize that I was running way, way too fast; the burning in my lungs was realization enough.

The slight hill over the next quarter mile destroyed me and I limped into the half at 2:30. I picked up the pace slightly, but really had nothing left. It was pain, agony, embarrassment at running such a bad race. I thought of just quitting, but decided it would be easier to just finish. Finally crossed the line in 5:14. The time was a slight P.R., but I was not at all happy with the race that I had run. I mean, how can I fuck up the pacing on a mile-long race so bad? Seriously, who does that?

Picked up my souvenir water bottle and a bagel, then met up with Sarah again. I took about ten minutes to finish the bagel, get some Gatorade, and catch my breath and then we were off again. We started slow, heading back to the starting line to pick up a t-shirt she'd left behind. Got it then started on the Central Park loop, nice and slow, just under 8:00's.

The first hour was uneventful. We kept picking up pace (unintentionally) and were around 7:30's by the time we got back to the bottom of the park. The soreness from the race was slipping away and it was good to just run and chat with an old friend.

Then a moment I'll never forget. At the bottom of Harlem Hill for the second time of the day, I looked over and said, We've got this. She nodded. I put my head down a little, breathed deep, and started up the hill. Everything started getting blurry. By the time we were at the rock overhang, I could only see directly in front of me, me periphery was a swirling pool of colors. I knew I was speeding up, but I couldn't feel my legs. I kept churning my arms, breathing deep, and then it was as though I lost all contact with my body. I knew I was running, I could sense it, but I couldn't feel it. When we reached the top, I looked over and said, Wow. The pain rushed back into my body, I slowed down, and I was human again.

Of course, that moment dominated the conversation as we ran down the west side. The same thing had happened to Sarah. So crazy. Maybe it was the race before we started. Or maybe it was the aluminum water bottles we were carrying. Or maybe the running gods just smiled on us today. Whatever it was, it was an amazing feeling, like nothing that I've ever experienced. I want it again.

We finished up our run just over 12 miles, at an average of 7:30/miles. I had originally planned 20, but a spell of dizziness hit me hard when I got back to the south end of the park and my right calf was cramping up pretty bad. There was no reason to push it, I realized. Even without those extra 8, I finished the week with 63 miles, my most ever. And I nudged my monthly total over 200 miles, a first for me. All in all a pretty good day.

p.s. The reason I speak of those morning runs as though they were the whole day is because they pretty much were. I came home, took a five hour nap, watched the Yankees beat the Red Sox on t.v., and now I'm off to bed again. I am completely wiped from this week.