While preparing for the Spring Equinox Half Marathon this past weekend, I kept wondering how my running would be affected by the high altitude in Colorado. I knew my training pace had improved but would the high elevation slow me down? Apparently so, after reading various blogs online. So I didn’t set high expectations for myself to PR (1:49:12, 8:20 pace). I sort of gave myself a free pass even before starting the race. Oh, it’ll be alright if I don’t PR. It’s hard running at high elevation. It’s expected that you’ll slow down.
Between mile 1 and 2, my heart rate picked up as I settled into my race pace. The sun was bearing down on my jacket, which I wore because temperatures were forecasted to be 38°F. Joke’s on me as I’m only a mile in and already having to tie my jacket around my waist. As I looked at the steady stream of runners in front of me, I couldn’t help but envy their advantage for living in these Colorado mountains. They must run this all the time I thought. Maybe even at higher elevations. This must be so easy for them.
Mile 4, 8:18 pace. I wanted to run an easy race up until the halfway point. The last thing I wanted was to push the pace too early, only to die the second half of the race, which would be torturous. We pushed up a hill and I started to notice people dropping off behind me. I silently thanked A Runner’s Mind for the Tuesday hill runs in SF, which trained me to run easily up these gradual slopes.
The 1:50 pacer remained steadily in front of me. I was neither catching up nor slowing down, but others were slowly peeling off the pack and drifting behind me. I was proud that I could maintain a steady pace on my own. I was never the fastest runner on my cross country team, but I could regularly run even splits. I looked out into the sprawling fields as that memory flashed across my mind and I smiled.
I caught up to the pacer around mile 6 and decided to join the group. I liked the idea of running with this mini team because it reminded me of my high school days on the cross country team. We ran over the rolling hills, on dirt and trail, taking in the beautiful landscape. I flip-flopped between enjoying the present nature and reminiscing on the good times I had running in high school. Lost in my thoughts, I soon forgot what mile I was on. But I had a hunch I was coming up on the 10 mile marker and I quickly reassessed my racing strategy. My plan was to speed up after mile 10, to finish off the last 3 miles at a faster tempo pace. That would guarantee that I came in under 1:50, and maybe even PR?! Feeling confident with my new strategy, I saw a mile marker coming up in the distance. I squinted to read the sign better. 11 miles. Oops.
I sped through the last two miles, motivated by the growing blister under my left arch. It emerged around mile 9 and by now, it felt like I was stepping on a little rock with each step. I even wondered if a rock was lodged in the sole of my shoe. Oh, and the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach that comes with eating bars and goos and caffeine. Yeah, that one. But there’s no room for excusitis and I certainly didn’t need an excuse to run slower. I started counting down the minutes left to push myself. “Just 5 more minutes of running. If I run faster, that could be 4 minutes.”
I ended up leaving Colorado with a PR, but surprisingly, that was the least of my accomplishments. I came into this race, not expecting to do well and even permitted myself to run slower. And I had already accepted it, even before starting. I ate half a pint of ice cream the night before, maybe in a self-sabotaging way because I was running to participate, not to compete. There was no pressure externally to do well, and my mom even said to me before I left, “Don’t run too fast”, in a completely non-joking way. She believes in the participation trophy. But come race time, all that went out the window. I found inspiration in the littlest details, the slight breeze in the air, the formation of the birds in a line across the sky, the smell of nature, nostalgic memories of cross country. I found the best version of myself out there, letting all pretenses fade away.
Sometimes, life gives you a finish line that’s 13.1 miles away. Sure, you can focus on the beating sun, the hot and dry race course, the high altitude, the advantage other runners may have, and all the pressure and expectations others place on you or that you place on yourself. OR, you can be present and really enjoy the process, taking note of the positive happenings that come your way. Push yourself when you can, on your terms, because those moments of strength will stay with you forever.
You can’t get so hung up on where you’d rather be that you forget to make the most of where you are
Aurora Lane
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