My first half-marathon of the year is in the books! It didn’t go quite as smoothly as I’d hoped ~ but given the challenges, I’ll take it. I came away with a new appreciation for adjusting on the fly…and a reminder to apply to the season’s endurance rides.
Last Saturday at my house began with coffee and a familiar debate: shorts v. tights. I was Team Shorts, and Mr. Sweaty was Team Tights. It went like this:
The forecast said high of 42F (shorts!)
It also said current temp 30F (tights!)
And, it said wind speed 3 mph (shorts!)
But also chance of snow (tights!)
Partly sunny (shorts!)
But partly not (tights!)
In the end, Mr. Sweaty and I both donned tights and jackets before making the half-hour drive to the Oregon border, where blasting music and blowing signs announced the impending start of the Owhyee Off-Road Challenge Half Marathon.
This race was started about a decade ago to raise money for a much-needed running track at the small town high school. It has grown into one of my favorite events for its smooth management and robust community support. More and more runners are making the 5K, 10K, half-marathon, or 55K a priority in their early season rosters. Just this year, ground was broken ground on that new track. Go Antelopes!
We tumbled out of the car into a stiff, icy breeze. Several of the race volunteers, I noted, were sporting Carhartt overalls. Oh yeah, a lovely spring day for a run in the hills. Ha.
But, trail runners are much like endurance riders: We said we’d do it, so we were going to, dammit! At least it wasn’t raining. And really, the wind wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t that cold, as long as you kept moving.
I didn’t make it past packet pickup before running into an old friend. We used to have coffee every month or two, but fell out of touch during COVID. Hugs all around! It’s amazing how a surprise like that can put the bounce in your step.
That bounce was a welcome distraction when it came time to strip off our warm layers and gather at the starting line. Mr. Sweaty and my friend and his girlfriend and I all clustered with the others, shivering and wishing each other luck.
And then, we were off! …like a herd of turtles. The nice thing about footraces, as opposed to horse races, is that you actually have full control over your pace at the start. No disengaging of hindquarters required!
Knowing we had 13.1 miles to go, we trotted the flat, first mile at about at 9.5 minute mile pace. We passed the spot where I normally park my truck and trailer for conditioning rides, then swerved right to begin the familiar climb up what I call the Mile High Hill.
It’s not actually a mile high, of course, but it is a mile long. Last year, running the 10K, I bounded all the way up at a run.
This year, despite being fitter, I had a harder time. Maybe it was my brain being aware that I was in for a longer distance, or the blustery weather, or just the day. For whatever reason, I did walk a few, short stretches on the way up.
Here’s the fabulous secret of trail running: Walking is good. Walking is normal. Walking is part of the sport. If you’ve ever shied away from trail running because you believed you couldn’t keep up the pace, read this article from Trail Runner Magazine and shy no more.
So here we are, looking way too happy with 11 miles to go.
We really were having fun, though. Like most endurance riders, most distance runners are out there for the challenge of finishing. We had agreed ahead of time to keep a moderate pace and treat this like a long training run for the daunting Race to Robie Creek, which comes up in April.
It turned out to be a good thing that I wasn’t trying for a personal best. Very early in the race, I began to feel hints of my familiar enemy: the Lung Thing.
[cue ominous music]
Sometimes ~ usually on long runs, but also at altitude or when I talk a lot during moderate exercise ~ my lungs tighten up. It feels like I can’t breathe deeply, but it never quite escalates into a full-blown asthma attack.
Is it exercise-induced asthma? Err…not sure. Maybe I should take myself to the vet.
Anyway, the Lung Thing struck unusually early. It teased me a bit even at mile 3 (uh-oh), so I was glad to be through with the initial climb. I tried to ignore it as we made a little loop on the scenic rim before setting off along a flattish two-track.
As the miles ticked by, I grew certain. The Lung Thing was present. My chest tightened in response to elevated breathing when going uphill and extra core tension when going downhill. It didn’t correlate with heart rate or perceived effort, and I knew I had plenty of energy in the tank, but running on reduced air intake isn’t a great feeling.
By mile 6, I felt myself shifting into experimental mode. Never having experienced the Lung Thing so early in a race, with so many miles to go, I didn’t know what to expect.
Would the tightness increase until it forced me to non-complete? Would it pass on its own? Could I manage it at a tolerable level for the remainder of the race?
I decided to take the management route. By slowing down whenever my lungs tightened, even walking if necessary, perhaps I could keep my breath easy enough to get me through another seven, hilly miles.
It definitely wasn’t going to be the race I’d had in mind.
Nevertheless, as I carried on across the cattle guard and through a rocky stretch, gradually looping back toward town, I couldn’t deny that I was having a blast.
Volunteers with cowbells and entertaining signs (“At least you’re not at work!”) lined the route. At least every quarter mile, despite the chill wind, kids and adults waited to cheer us on. Abundant aid stations offered water, Gatorade, energy gels, fruit, porta-potties, and encouragement.
I accepted water in little paper cups, but my stomach isn’t a fan of sweet fuels during endurance events. I carried my own nutrition instead, with a plan to fuel a little more aggressively than I have in the past.
My fuel of choice is Edge gel from UCAN. It’s made with a special carbohydrate that doesn’t cause blood sugar spikes ~ or crashes! ~ or the stomach upset that is common with sugar-based gels and drinks. Sweaty Equestrian readers get a special discount in the UCAN store.
For this race, I decided to take a UCAN Edge gel 45 minutes before the start, then every 50 minutes during the race rather than my usual 60 minute intervals. Bingo! I felt great the whole way, in terms of energy. Had my lungs cooperated, I’m confident I could have run all but the steepest hills, and averaged a 10 minute mile (which isn’t fast by serious running standards, but it’s decent for me!)
Ah well, the Lung Thing was there, so I worked with it.
As I crested the last climb and dropped into the final couple miles, my pace was slow, but my spirits were high. I was going to make it!
I’d successfully managed the problem and enjoyed the event despite lackluster performance. That’s what it’s really about, right? Getting outside with friends and facing challenge with a smile.
This is yet another lesson that transfers from running to riding: An athlete’s level of fitness doesn’t directly correlate with performance on race day. All kinds of factors contribute, and they aren’t necessarily within our understanding, let along our control.
Next time my horse doesn’t perform at the level I know he’s capable of, I hope I will remember this race and happily adjust my expectations. Shrug and slow down. Enjoy a different kind of day, without the perks of a top ten finish, but with all the same scenic trails and bonding with human and equine friends.
Snow swirled as Mr. Sweaty and I dropped back into town and accepted our finisher’s medals. My hands were almost too cold to navigate into my waiting fleece and puffy jacket! Thankfully, my temperature stabilized quickly as we hunkered down beside the stage, out of the wind, and shared a post-race meal with friends.
When my finish time posted at a slow 2:30:22 (28th out of 52 females), I wasn’t exactly thrilled, but I was satisfied. I’d had a great day despite not feeling great physically. I learned that the Lung Thing needn’t spell the end of an event. I can adjust my expectations and finish happy…and there’s something to be said for that.
To finish is to win!
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