Monday, October 31, 2011

a warning

If you drill a hole into your femur, you might end up looking like this:

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

my first 10k...almost

Gratuitous bragging and self-aggrandizement ahead; be warned!

OK, it was actually a 9k. But who runs a 9k? Now I feel slightly guilty, though, as if I need to run a REAL 10k in order to validate myself saying I ran one. But I doubt I feel guilty enough to actually sign up for one, since it's getting colder and mornings are almost too dark for running. Wait, will going off Daylight Savings Time help there, or not...think think think...fall BACK...so yes, that means I will have more morning daylight! Bummer. It was a good excuse.

For the race planners, I note: it's discouraging to be told that there will be pace markers set up to get us organized at the start line, and then to discover that the markers are for 6, 8, and 10 minute mile pace, and anyone slower than 10 minutes per miles is relegated to the baby jogger section. Couldn't you have stuck in an 11 or 12 minute pace marker, just to make me feel like a real runner?

On the plus side: our race times came out today, and while I am definitely in the slower 50% of the "racers", only ONE woman over age 70 finished before me! Actually, I am wondering if their timer was a bit off, because it says I ran, on average, a 10:38 mile. People, for me, that's FAST; compare that to the previous weekend's 5k where I ran about a 11:20 mile (which actually was fast for me, too; I tend to estimate a 12:00 mile). And I didn't feel fast; I felt like I could barely shuffle my Sudafed-and-Mucinex-laden body along. So my theory is that their timer is off, rather like my iPod pedometer which insists that I actually ran 8 miles or so. I know there's a way to calibrate the darn thing, but I followed the instructions and ended up with it still thinking I'm running 6-7 minute miles. Heh.

The best part of this race? I actually remembered to bring a wad of Kleenex with me. Being able to blow my nose every kilometer or so was pure heaven, compared to just trying to sniff and dab ineffectually at the corners of my nose with my race T-shirt.