Wednesday, December 12, 2012

She's Behind You!

Coming off a long cross country season, number one son whimsically decided to join me for what would be  his half marathon debut.  More of an endurance than speed merchant he was curious to see how he would do. I tenderly explained to him the eve of the race,  that as I had trained religiously for the past three months, I had goals to achieve, and would not be derailed or lose focus by my favorite son joining the party late in the day.  I was not anticipating any feel good mother son experience on race day.  To further ampifly my point, I made it clear that even if both his legs were dropping off I would not be speaking or engaging with him during the race - motherhood is a strong bond, but racing was racing after all.....

The corner stone of distance training is of course the weekly long run that steadily builds in distance or pace.  The the boy hadn't done any ten milers since the start of the season, and he had certainly never made it beyond those easy ten.  For most of the season those long runs had instead been hilly 8 milers on the trails, but he had been frustrated at paying his dues running the Frosher 2 mile courses, spending most of the race playing catch up in these races due to his slower start so he was curious to see what a longer race was like.  The normal progression would be to sign up for a 10k to figure this out....but the race organizers had eliminated that option, just leaving either the 5k or half to choose between.

My only maternal advice took place earlier in the week, when I was feeling benevolent and caring.  I patiently told him to go out conservatively, then to run relatively easy on the hills as they would feel gentle compared to some of the courses he had run, but to pick it up and really start racing at the 10 mile mark as that was a 5k to the finish; a race he would understand and could run by feel.

The flavor of a major race in a very small city was interesting.  The Walnut Creek International (yes International I hear you say!) half marathon had all the trappings of sophisticated chip timing, umbrella arches to run through and pace corrals, and of course the aura of the famous Olympian Lopez Lomong to draw the crowds.  Except there were no crowds, it took us ten minutes to get there and I didn't have to visit one porta potty.

Lining up in the 7 minute pace corral felt different, as there were less than 2,000 runners in this race, unlike the 40,000 who run Broad Street or the big races in Philly.  I enjoyed the feeling of space and ran some strides with the boy, feeling surprisingly relaxed as a week of various aches, pains and incipient flu symptoms had done their usual job of evaporating as they often do at the dawn of a race.   Neither of us bothered to discussed strategy or expectations, we just enyoyed the buzz of the race atmosphere.

After a couple of strides I returned to the start and noticed the extremely impressive presence of Lomong, dressed as if for winter in full length tights despite the balmy 42f temperatures.  Standing surprisingly alone and unmolested by fans, he was due to be leading a pace group and as he was an 800m- 5k runner, and trained at a much faster pace, was bundled up in hat, gloves etc.  Like a giddy teenager I whipped out my sharpie and asked him to sign the back of my Running Housewives of Blue Bell vest which now I can not wash and is crisping up niceley, but surely a collectors item.  Lomong merrily obliged and was exceptionally charming when I also asked for a photo op.  The boy looked on somewhat long sufferingly but was nice enough not to mock me, I think he was somewhat in awe of Lomong himself, but was much too cool to show it.

Within minutes the starting line assembled and in such a small field we found ourselves relatively near the front.  Being careful to establish my pace from the outset I set off conservatively, at about 10 seconds faster than my goal race pace.  I watched in dismay as Laurence had his fastest start of the season, running alongside Lomong like a happy puppy, as he quickly disappeared into the light fog.  The boy had a chance to run alongside an Olympian in the face of which his mother's advice was of course total garbage!

I tried to focus on my pace, and not to think about what I was going to do when I found my progeny crumpled by the side of the road or limping on in pain at mile 10.  Going out too fast in a distance run is    not a winning strategy, for some reason that additional early effort draws on your reserves of energy much more than you think, and most runners prefer to attempt a negative split for such a long race.  One of the things I like about distance running is the strategy and I made sure that the first part of the race felt easy, my legs were feeling tapered and eager to turnover.  Then, just at the point in a race when normally I would have been in danger of going too fast, as it takes about 4 miles for the  middle age muscles to start activating,  the hills began. The looming presence of each hill was strangely muted, eroded as it was by a now blanket of heavy fog.  Being able to see only four feet ahead had its advantages, you didn't need to stare the hill down or worry about what was coming, you just worked at it.

Turning the corner onto Ygnacio saw yet another climb and it was a point at which I started to labor into the beginnings of a side stitch.  Attacking the hill hard enough so as to not lose too much time, but not so hard you were finished too early on in the race was a tricky balance, but that side stitch at the end reminded me to keep my breathing more even and the effort more relaxed.

The dramatic zig zag down the hills of Ygnacio was a hoot - I have always loved a good downhill, my quads are defnitely more up for it than the hamstrings and it was fun to pass all the people who had in turn passed me on the hill.  Every mile that passed, that I failed to see the boy, actually cheered me up, as I thought he was probably doing just fine if he was no where in sight.

At mile 7.5 I started to glimpse a familiar arm action and grey tee shirt up ahead; and there he was.  He was clearly slowing down, hitting that no mans land of getting tired but no hope of finishing soon; two thirds of the way done and he was running out of gas - he had clearly gone out way too fast!  I maintained pace and subtly drew alongside long enough to break my own rule and said 'hello' in the way only a mother can - loaded with meaning.  Without even a sideways glance the toe rag shot off and put 15 seconds of daylight between us.  He clearly did not want my company either, or was anticipating 'helpful' coaching tips about how he had probably mispaced his race.

At mile ten many runners seemed to be lagging, and I watched as the boy surged forward again,  passing a few of them, now totally lost in the fog and turns of the Heather Farm park section.  At mile eleven and a half I saw him again, slowing slightly and, again, came within 15 seconds of him, it cheered me up that he was at least hanging in there and wasn't by the side of the road whimpering.  It was also tantalizing as I realized I couldn't quite catch him after his fast start.

Miles 12 to 13 were more challenging, we hit a very muddy trail that slowed everyone down and made it hard to summon the energy for lifting the leg higher.  Running up the final short hill on the bridge crossing Ygnacio I could still see him and decided now was the best time to add any kind of kick, wouldn't it be fun to cross the finish line together just like when he ran me in for 5 miles at the Philadelphia Marathon.    Coming off the hill I powerlessly watched him disappear from view as my burst of speed proved to be somewhat flat,  and watched him cross the finish line as I tried to power towards it - still with that same 15 seconds ahead of me.  We finished 69th and 70th in the race.

A large placard with 'Run Like Your Mother is Behind You' will be waved in the air anytime I need my kid to go faster. The familiar thud of my foot fall and irritatingly heavy breathing was so well known to him that he didn't even need to see me, it had made him speed up with an almost pavlovian response, which no words of encouragement or advice could ever come close to replicating.  Even in his finish line pictures you can see my looming presence rounding the corner behind him, emerging from the thick blanket of fog to impinge and possibly photo bomb his moment of glory.

Texts and emails and phonecalls from running buddies congratulated me on a lovely mother son experience, how nice they said that you could enjoy it together, and how nice of you to let him beat you at the end!  If only they knew.....

Later that night he sidled up to me and said one thing 'guess that just leaves the marathon I haven't beaten you in yet then....'





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