This race requires a relatively early rise, and a reasonably long drive. This normally isn't an issue, but Elizabeth and I had already spent a lot of time in the car driving to the south shore/cape/home the previous two days. Nonetheless, after dropping Elizabeth off at a cafe to squeeze in some weekend work-hours, I arrived with over an hour to spare.
I need to add in a bit of a gripe at this point - what is up with only five functioning portos for a Grand Prix event? The sixth was out-of-order, but even six is too few. A minimum of ten sounds about right.
...so after waiting in line for a good 20+ minutes, I was only able to get in a ~1m warm up, and a handful of strides. With a heat advisory in effect, I certainly didn't need a 'warm-up' but I do like to get in some pre-race mileage.
On the starting line as the national anthem was being sung, I was glancing around at the runners next to me and one thing stood out. Everyone was dripping sweat. During post-race discussions, Kevin made a point of the same thing, and we both would place these conditions as some of the toughest we have ever run in.
I had no expectations for this race, and out of the gate my goal was to simply find a pace that worked and wouldn't leave me ragged for continued summer training.
I came out of the gate with a 5:34 mile and that felt slow for my legs, but unsustainable. The air was so heavy to breath, that I could feel my breathing begin to labor. And temps were so warm that I could feel my internal temperature rising. I prepared myself to run 5:45 for the next two miles, and was moderately successful in executing that plan running 5:53 and 5:46 for miles two and three respectively.
After passing the 5k mark in a shade under 18 minutes, I started to feel the gorilla on my back. The course goes up a moderate incline, not worthy of being called a 'hill', but it felt incredibly difficult. I wish I could remember how Terry phrased this feeling, but he said that going uphill in conditions like those "not like hitting the wall, more like slamming your head on the ceiling." I think that's a horribly accurate way of putting it. I saw quite a few runners walking during the fourth mile, and they weren't happy about it. I slowed to a pedestrian 6:24 mile, but that pace allowed me to recover enough to finish.
After turning to the half-mile-to-go point, I slowly picked up the pace, passing loads of runners who were looking roasted. With just over a quarter mile to go, I noticed someone doing the 'lean back' as they continued to move forward. His face was pale, and he looked like a man lost in the desert. I surprisingly recovered quite a bit during the fourth mile, so I slowed a bit here and told some of the onlookers who were saying, "keep an eye on that guy," that he should be stopped ASAP. He was about to fall over and risking serious injuries and heat stroke wasn't worth it, regardless of how close he was to finishing.
I moved on and pulled just ahead of a group of young guys that looked like senior hs/freshman college age, and I was excited for a battle to the line. I didn't get a chance to truly test out my kick though, as I comfortably eased away with another gear or two left in my back pocket. Very much for the best though, because I was still dry heaving at the finish line with even a moderate kick.
Final time was 29:52. Meh.
Quick mention that John Sullivan, of HFC, and Dan Verrington of CMS, are both beasts.
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