For some of us, The Santa Barbara International Marathon was close to 9 months of training, 3 to 4 hours of labor, and one last push, ahhhhhh bouncing baby PR.  Goo-goo, or was that Gu Brew?  Regardless, there was far more than a few amazing performances at the inaugural event.  The “academy” would like to recognize:

John Lofthus 2:45:38.  John was 4th overall and averaged 6:19 per mile.  He ran the third fastest finish of the day.

Tim Strand 2:51:02 PR.  Tim was 7th overall, ran the fourth fastest finishing kick of the day, and won his age group.

Eric Forte 2:51:12.  Eric was 8th overall, ran the fifth fastest finishing kick, and did not need his bus fare!

Andrea McLarty 2:52:23 PR.  I was 11th overall and ran the sixth fastest finishing kick of the day.

Mike Shalhoub 2:53:40 PR.  Mike was 14th overall and 3rd in his age group.

Ricky Ho 2:56:56 PR.  Ricky took 6th in his age group and yet another PR as this was his first marathon.

Gene Deering 2:58:05.  Gene was 20th overall, 5th in his age group, and loving the girlie cheer along the way!

Chrystee Bradley 3:00:28.  Chrystee was seconds from second place, took 3rd female overall, took 2nd in her age group, and ran a perfectly even race.

Michelle McToldridge 3:00:43 PR.  Michelle was seconds from third place, took 4th female overall, took 3rd in her age group, and ran a perfectly even race.

Shigy Suzuki 3:03:59.  Shigy was 42nd overall.

Tekle Menelik 3:07:29.  Tekle was 10th in age group and 53rd overall.

Jeff Devine 3:07:35 PR.  Jeff was 11th in age group and 55th overall.

Laura Turner 3:08:52.  Laura was 7th female overall and 5th in age group.

Dave Thompson 3:14.  Dave was 11th in age group.

Susie Adams NAILS 3:15:13 PR!!!  Suzie was 10th female over all and 2nd in age group.

Kent Harris 3:16:05.  Kent was 18th in age group.

Leif Reynolds 3:16:44.  Leif left a lot behind!  We Leif you!

Phil Gans 3:17.  Phil was 7th in his age group.

Rob Ramirez 3:18.  Rob was 21st in age group.

Fred Maggiore 3:18.  Fred was 8th in his age group.

Hari Bhaskaran 3:19:12 PR!  And he was worried he would not finish!

Matt Tarka 3:20:15 PR!  Matt’s marathon debut and a very nice start!

Betsy Spaulding 3:21:39.  Betsy WON her age group!  Betsy was 6th in AGE GRADED performance!!!

Brian Dutter 3:22:39.  Brian was the 12th in his age group, but by far the brightest.

Jerry Jackintell 3:22:52 PR!  Great job Jerry!

Desa Mandarina 3:26:50 PR!  Wonderful Job Desa! XOXO!

Joe Macphee 3:28:51.  The first person to sign up for the SBIM took 35th in his age group.

Johnny Stein 3:28:52.  Johnny placed 2nd in his age group!

Prahlad Kilambi (KP) 3:29.  KP was 41st in his age group.

Gina Fennell 3:29:58.  Fabulous Gina!

Troy Hinshaw 3:30.  Troy was 27th in his age group.

Jill Christ 3:31.  Jill was 41st female overall and 8th in her age group.

Brett Larsen 3:33.  Brett was 34th in his age group.

John Nelson 3:33.  John took 20th in his age group.

Paula Waldman 3:35.  Paula grabbed 7th in her age group and look fantastic doing it.

Heidi Heitkamp 3:35:29.  Heidi was 8th in her age group!

Rob Simes 3:37.  Rob was 39th in his age group.

Jay Hennigan 3:37.  Jay took 5th in his age grop and 95th on age graded performance.

Debra Powell 3:38.  Debra was 9th in her age group and 96th on age graded performance.

Amanda Nicolato 3:38.  Amanda was 62nd female overall and 5th in her age group.

Karen Bois 3:43.  Karen was 27th in her age group.

Nancy Kaplan 3:43.  Nancy WON her age group!!!!  Nice work!

Patty Bryant 3:44.  Patty was 6th in her age group and the 100th female.

Sarah Mandes 3:45:29.  Sarah was “fresh” off an IRONMAN.  Good grief woman!

Katie Kirkmere 3:51.  Katie was 15th in her age group and had on the coolest arm warmers!

Joe Howell 3:53.  Joe took 8th in his age group.

Debbie Kovanda 3:55.  Debbie was 74th in age graded performance.

Stuart Sato 4:04.  Stuart was 57th in his age group.

Ken Hughes 4:23.  Ken was the 911th person to cross the line, but probably the ONLY one who ran RED ROCKS last week.  Sore much Ken?

Now this in from Mr. Brizzle himself aka Brian or aka Munson:

“And it seems like if you did not sign up for the race, Rusty made you volunteer so thanks to all of those people who shouted out my name along the way to help me score points in my contest with Fred and helped to make this event possible.  And kudos to all of the relay team members… I saw Tony and Jim and Gary and Fran and Rob.  If I missed people, my apologies but someone please reply with their names.  And Wendy we know you were running strong for a long ways…hope you feel better quickly,” says Brizzle.

Cheers!

Slim Getting It Done!

We can get up, we chose not to.

Does my baby PR need money for college?

Ten years ago, I lived in Boulder, Colorado and running beneath a sugar crusted front range, I fantasized about winning a marathon.  I would run over rocky trail, stretch my arms back behind me, and visualize some fantastic racing moment equipped with cheering crowds and an exciting finish.  I felt like a little kid dreaming of becoming an astronaut.  “Oh, sure Janie, you can be anything you want to be.”

The Santa Barbara International Marathon is going to be a very big race someday soon.  I know that my winning time of 2:52:23 may not be a winning time for long, but that little notion does nothing against this moment that I am going to cherish.  I ran my perfect race.

Purple!

Visualizing this event, I pictured myself running smooth and controlled through mile 18.  I steadied my effort to mile 20 and then I began to drop the hammer.  I increased my leg turnover, I breathed hard, but controlled.  I picked people off.  I dreamed myself strong and fierce to the finish line.  This race played out exactly like the script in my head.  Cue cards be damned.

I effortlessly maneuvered the first half.  I enjoyed my silent breathing against a cheering crowd.  People shouted my name and I returned smiles and hand waves.  I even giggled at passing comments like the sweet girl at mile 7 who encouraged, “You’re almost there,” and the lady at mile 12 who commented behind my back, “Yep, my abs look like that.”

I ignored the drifting of male bodies around me.  I ran my own race.  At mile 14 my legs began to grow tired.  I listened carefully to the tension growing in my calves and backed my pace down just a bit.  I repeated Rusty’s advice to take each mile one at a time.  Mile 15 had me picking up the pace again.  Mile 17 smiled back at me through my children’s eyes.  Mile 18 had me striping off my arm warmers and pumping myself up, “Now it’s personal.  Pick it up!”

Mile 20, “Attack!”  Every male runner ahead of me went on my list.  I picked off packs along Modoc.  A man in red ran ahead of me at the uphill turn off of Modoc onto Las Positas.  I charged him cutting so close that we brushed shoulders.  I opened up my stride at the top and dropped my pace.  I passed another two male runners without so much of a kiss hello.

Mile 23 bottomed me out at Cliff Drive hill.  I plugged up it smooth and controlled.  I smiled at Elizabeth waving a beautifully purple scarf.  I set my eyes on the blue male runner up ahead.  I took three strides to shake the hill.  I turned onto Oliver spotting Lucy with baby Rocco and set a dead stare on the guy in blue.  I ate him up.  Travis sat on the sidelines and told me a pack of men was hurting bad up ahead.  I tucked my chin and dug into Shoreline.  I over took them.  I relaxed running strong down mile 25.  I took time to enjoy this moment.  I felt powerful, in control, and free.  The sun sparkled off the ocean and in my eyes.  My family cheered at Shoreline Park.  Jim raced out to cheer me.  I ran through a picturesque palm arch and let my legs turn over. 

Mile 26 opened up cheers and a view of the finish line.  I surged and spread my arms out crossing the line enjoying every second of this win.  I pumped my fist and smiled at cameras.  Move over Prom Queen!  For a runner of my talent, it simple does not get any better than this moment!

I won the inaugural Santa Barbara International Marathon.  People cheered my name for 26 miles.  I felt amazing.  It was amazing!  I am so grateful for this experience.  I am so thankful to my family and to my coach Rusty Snow.

Enjoying it!

Says It All!

Nobody seemed to want to trot this morning!  “Hey Ricky, want to trot?”  Nope!  He ran a 21:50 4 miler.  “Hey Michelle, tofurkey trot?”  Nope!  She ran a 23:31 4 miler.  “Um Slim, you gonna trot?” Oh no!  Tim won a 10K racing the whole way and crossing the line in 35:23.  Pie goes great with PR’s.  Nothing like, oh say, a minute off your 10K to really make the cranberries pop.

I motored down to Ventura for Josh Spiker’s flat fast 5K offering cash prizes.  Shawna Burger was warming up ahead of me on the road.  I can recognize that mesmerizing pony tail anywhere.  I recognized a few other faces from last year as well, but mostly I was all alone with my pair of dead tired marathon legs.  I did trot around my warm up.

Right leg, “What is she thinking she is gonna do here?”

Left leg, “I donnaknow, but she ain’t gonna do it!”

I do my strides to the musical review of popping hamstrings and disgruntled calf muscles.  Oh come on ladies!  Pull up your socks!  I mean you had two days to taper and we only ran one 5:19 mile on one of the days.  Shouldn’t you feel fant-abulous-astic by now?  Apparently not.

The gun goes off.  I am not really interested in going to the 5K house of horrors so I sit back and run a smart race.  I follow the girls and think nothing of them being in front of me because, here’s the cream, I can hear them breathing from here.  I am not breathing.  Well, of course I am breathing, but it is the soft rhythmic flow of a runner in control.  Could I converse?  That is probably taking it to far.

Mile 1: 5:32.  It felt aerobically easy.  My legs lugged themselves along, but my lungs suggested picking up the pace.  I moved into second place right behind Shawna.  At one point I considered passing her as she slowed down a bit, but plotted to save the elevated trot for the last half mile.  It was like I was actually strategizing this race instead of just going into the red zone with bells and whistles blasting self destruction.  Weird!

Mile 2: 11:10.  I watched that pretty pony tail just swish left, right, left, right.  Shigy ran with us and we passed younger male runners huffing like sick seals.  My breathe flowed easy, but my legs threw their anchors.  The pace decreased and Shawna slowly pulled away from me a bit.  I ran rather comfortably past my family.  “Go! Go! Drea pick it up!” They yelled.  I sort of forgot I was in a race.  Runners behind me stopped existing.  I sat in my non-red-line, this 5K is rather comfy, delusional zone and I never considered the cheetahs running up my back.  That dang pony tail of Shawna’s!  I think it has magical hypnotic powers.  I am asleep at the wheel.

Mile 3: 17:05.  People are screaming.  Someone shouts, “Get her!”  Wait?  Get who?  Me?  “She’s right there!” shouts another.  The little pilot adrenaline light goes off and my rear jumps in gear with all the authority of “Ahhh she’s gonna get me!”  Ashley sneaks up my back and we dead lock sprint for the line.  My toe strikes first.  Good for second place, $200, and a 17:34.  Shawna finished first: 17:25.  Shigy: 17:34.

The clock time didn’t make me tick, but something else sure did.  My legs are dead marathon miles tired and yet I just ran a comfy 5K.  I would never call it easy, but my breathing was controlled to the line and I had kick to stay alive.  I am usually dropping over the line with the look of ICU.  I see you?  No, ICU.  This makes me excited for the marathon.  Rest up ladies.  Have some pie!

(Oh, Carl, just in case you read this, I was nervous and focused when you came to say hello and I am so sorry that it appeared that I was ignoring you.  HELLO!  Happy Thanksgiving!!!!)

She's Coming!

“Remember,” Rusty says after I complete a couple strides at the starting line of the Santa Barbara News Press Half Marathon, “It’s a long race.”

Over the last ten days, I had completed some very aggressive workouts and felt really good doing them.  However, the Thursday before this race my legs informed me that they were not up for another big push.  I cannot complain because I have been running well below RX pace and feeling good.  If you race in practice, you probably are not going to have anything left to race with on race day.  Logic is an honest beotch.

“Don’t lose your cool,” John Brennand says with a smile and hug at the starting line.  Chrystee thanks him for her number 1 bib.  “You deserve it!”  I pat my number 2.  Earlier in the parking lot a woman spotted my number and huffed to her friend, “She signed up early.”

I tap Michelle good luck and spank my thighs.  “Wake up ladies,” I tell them.  I stuff three Cliff Shot Blocks in my mouth and the gun goes off.  I run a perfectly planned race.  I went out as planned, I dropped to my planned pace on target, and I maintained control.  I could hear runners around me working harder than I was.  I felt comfortable in my zone.  On the long stretch to the cemetery, I stuck behind Tim’s broad shoulders enjoying the draft and letting other runners fall away from us.  The miles came as expected.

I hit the turn around and noticed that I had a sizeable lead.  I told myself, “Four miles, let’s go!”  I felt confident that I could drop my pace home.  People shouted at me, “Go Number 2!”  It made the ten year old in my head snicker, hee hee hee.  “Nice and smooth Drea,” a smiling woman in a cap called out to me.  I was surprised by how many people knew my name and it felt wonderful.  I was leading a race and people were cheering for me, does it get any better as a runner?  Just do not ask the clock.  That tick tock never cheers and he does not lie either.

I run the pop up hill on the return from the Biltmore.  Steeper than long, she is a real brat of a slope.  I watch Tim take her slow.  This is permission to slow down.  Perrrrrr-put-put.  What was that?  My engine turns over.  I notice someone has dropped a Shot Block on the pavement.  Red.  The kind I like and I actually consider picking it up to eat.  I leave the small glob of glucose behind wishing I had my own.  My head begins to swim.

I pass the 10 mile mark on pace, a pace that I know I can handle well, and I get set to crank.  “5K to the finish baby,” I shout at myself.  Joe Howell runs by cheering turning his thumb up and down for me to select and option.  I select up.  Denial sloshes around in my chest and my breathe comes out in mismatched waves.  The huffing and puffing has started at an erratic rate sounding the yellow alarm.  “Dig, dig, dig,” I repeat, but my mile slows.

More cheers and more people knowing my name call out to me.  I want to feel good to enjoy this amazing moment of recognition.  The support is unbelievable, but I am too far gone to receive any lift.  I am disappointed when I see my split at mile 11 and I turn it to the pavement.  “Dig, dig, dig,” I keep repeating and my eyes stay up and focused while my feet turn over beneath me.  I recovered 15 seconds off my mile by mile 12.  Unfortunately, I used my last mist of energy to do it.  The bottom drops out.

I see Rusty up ahead on the bike waiting for me.  My vision turns a bit blurry while my arms swing to the rhythm that I want my legs to go.  “Look ahead Drea,” he calls out, “Pump, Drea, pump.”  Two runners are ahead of me and not making up any time.  They are bonking too.  Get them!  Get them!  Bethany appears from the side lines cheering.  Momentarily, I am so happy to see her that I want to stop and give her a hug.  I do not know why.  Maybe it is because I am sure she knows this pain, this red line before a flat line.  The girl in my head pushes the button, the red one.  Roo-oop, roo-oop, roo-oop, and the alarm is wailing.  Shit.

There is a half mile to go and my body is done.  I do not remember the last time I bonked this horrifically and quickly especially when running a smart race.  I would not have done anything differently.  Yet, I wanted to stop.  The word quit popped up on the telescreen next to the alarm speakers and this is why I am so proud of this race.  I turned it off.  I started to really dig.  Dig, not like panning for gold dig, but Texas Tea dig.  Spindle top baby!  This was serrate cut the running artery and bleed out the last drops digging.  I told myself that this pain is a privilege, be thankful that I can do this.  Be thankful.  Be thankful.  My head spun, vomit crept into my chest and in sight of the finish line, I wanted to cry.  I do not remember crossing the line, but I remember stopping.  Oxygen flowed back into my soul and relief washed me clean.  Clean as in “Hey Drea, Drea just cleaned your clock!”

Clock: 1:22:12.  I know I can go faster.  However, I also know that I could not have gone any faster Saturday November 7, 2009.  The last 6 minutes I was pulling everyone of those seconds out of the fire.  They are my sweet little seconds, all twelve of them and not thirteen.

I won a major race in my beautiful home town.  I won a race that was deemed the USATF Southern California Half Marathon Championship and I got a lovely trophy and interview to go with it.  I had people cheering my name or “Go Number 2!” (hee hee hee) the whole way.

I am thankful for my ability, for my training, for my coach, for my family, and for my drive.  If this race served a purpose, I would say it was renewing my Mental Toughness Certification.  I passed.  I am pleased.  I hope this certification is good for the next couple years at least!  OK Santa Barbara International Marathon, I am locked and loaded full of grrrrr and oh, yeah, more glucose!

Says It All

Open Season!

Fox trot.  Some like it hot.  Rabbit on the run.  Plenty of sun.  You thought this was a fall race?  Well, it is!  Didn’t you see the apples and apple juice and pumpkin chocolate chip loaf sitting by the finish line?

Oh, you mean the temperature of the air.  Well, it was a fox race.  Chances are it was bound to be hotter than cooler.  This race previously named Psippi’s XC (but since I could not say it, I could not really direct that race) is now Fox Fall XC Classic.  Classic?  Yeah, that just makes it sound good.  Say it with me, “Cla-s-s-ic.”

A notoriously confusing course was branded well marked and nobody in yellow got lost!

Don't Forget My Name!

"Why Yes, I am a Fox."

"Name's Tim." "Yep, I see."

Some Foxes Got Lonely

Grapes?

Uber-Fox-y

I am not too serious. Yes I am.

I am going to win!

I am going to fly!

I am going to get that finish!

Desa for the win!

I want my bagel!

We determined the course was 4.86 miles.  Sounds like a reason to have a bagel!

Now! Bagel, now!

Are you hot? I am hot.

So hot!

I feel fine. This is no problem.

I just do as I am told.

Are we done yet?

No seriously? Are we done?

Cheering fans.

Sneaky Fok?

No, sneaky fox!

Congratulations to all the winners!

Mmmmmmmm. Winners.

See you next year!

Can I have one of those yellow shirts?

All rights and therefor suits retained by Dokumentary Dockor Hans Brizzle, the following reels are newly released for viewing pleasure.

Here’s boys

Here’s girls

Oh my sweet Wesley.

Wesley?  YOU mean Westmont?

Man in Black?

No, ladies in black!!

Oh, are they back?

Yep!  So tell Buttercup to cheese the bagel and clear the  course because this year we have multiplied!  Line them up baby, Nichol, Desa, Michelle, Christine, Drea, Kim, Susie, and Wanda are here to take on the college girls.

Sounds intimidating?  Well, we can talk about it all day or we can just prove to you that some things get better with age: Wine, Cheese, and Women.  Makes a nice appetizer too!  While the men got the earlier time slot and lots of glorious fog, the women got the heat.  That is OK, we like it HOT.

We watched Josh Spiker flame the men’s course and that looked like a good idea.  Hey, why did not we think of that?  Just run one to two minutes off the front?  Thanks for the tip Josh, we think we will try that strategy. 

So, some days you just do not feel like you have “it”.  You think you are capable, you wonder why it is not happening, and then you get just plain Jane frustrated.  Of course, then there are some days when….wait a minute, wait a day, what is this?  Is this a Ferrari stuck up under my sports bra?  Why “Helloooooo” thoroughbreds!  Comfy?  Have a sugar cube.

The sun beats down and somewhere in the blaze Coach Smelley says “Go.”  Bam!  We are across the field.  “Don’t go out too fast,” everybody has warned.  I mean, have you seen the slab of a hill on mile two?  Why yes, Dan, I have.  Quite the wall.  That will make it burn.  Oh, I think this campus has seen enough fire.  Har har har.

OK, we are across the field.  Where did everybody go?  I cannot even hear them.  Sometimes you dream.  Sometimes you are awake.  Sometimes you think you are in a dream, but you might be awake.  However, you are not sure so wait….just do not pinch me, let me be here, right now.  Here, where I hear no one.  I am running a hilly cross country course without a sound.  I am smiling.  Mile 1 slides by at 5:28 feeling like butter.  Waffle butter.  Might be some maple syrup.  Mile 2 eats into a huge hill.  I look back and the pavement is barren.  I give more smiles, a high five, more smiles….I feel guilty, I am fresh.  Mile 3 and the finish line is an easy kill.  Course record.  “Nice to meet you Drea, my name is Drea.  Will you be staying around a while?”

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

A minute and change goes by and Michelle rounds the corner and blazes second place.  Thirty seconds passes and third place crosses the line followed by the pack.  The women of the Santa Barbara Athletic Association place fantastic!  Kim pulls in third for our team and strikes 11th (!!!!) OVER all followed by seconds with Christine’s performance.  Desa sprints a gal from Westmont to the line and takes the win and Wanda is just blinks back.  Susie is less than a puff behind Wanda and Nichol takes the finish still in the top half with a wrapped achilles and wait a minute……..just what is going on here?

Brizzle was making a “Moc-u-mentary” and well, it got a little PG-13.  The ice is real, but anyone need something with their fries?

The ladies of the SBAA placed a smashing 2nd overall.  Westmont won their home field.  It was a fabulous time.

And while it might have seemed like we were all business, back in black is more than just smack.  Making the aging process look like fun, we know when you got it…….sugar, you got it!

Don’t believe us?  Just ask the boys!

It is infected with PR’s.  Did Christopher Walkens get to Jake Clinton?  What’s the gig?  I actually don’t want to know, I am not going to argue.  I ran, I saw a time, I liked it.

I think Mike, Jamie, and Tim liked what they saw too.  PR’s all around?  Oh yeah.

And people do like PR’s.

Wait, not quite there yet, but sniff sniff sniff….I think I smell cinnamon.

Jim, you better start practicing your Martha, Stewart that is.

Nite Moves 5K: results.

But…basically…it went like this:  Beautiful night in paradise, runners line up.  My legs feel tired for no good reason so I must assume they are lying.  Gun goes off.  Up hill climb.  Tim breaks the wind, thanks my man.  Mile 1 feels too easy: 5:45.  Climb, climb, pass boy with baggy shorts who disagrees with girl passing him.  He passes me back, I pass him again.  Hang on Tim’s shoulder.  Turn around.  Dig.  Down hill.  Ricky feeling calf pain running slow (for him).  Stick on Ricky.  Pump pump watching Ricky’s back like old times.  Mile 2: 11:23.  Enter the park and typical 5K pain sets in.  Footsteps behind.  Hit top of hill to final drop and Mike, Jamie, and Tim take my lead.  Run to the line: 17:22.  High fives because Mike went around 17:10, Jamie 17:10, Tim 7:19.  Like them apples?  Yep, taste good with cinnamon.

Hey, that’s how we rollllllllllllll.

By the way, this is as close as I will ever get to Ricky again.  Best enjoy that!  Thanks Ricky for the sticky talk!

I will eat ice cream.  But not yet.  A profound statement?  Rocky Road cool your skumfidus (Danish for marshmallow and one of my favorite all time words), I am coming for you.  Just wait.

SKUMFIDUS (Schkum-fi-doo!)  Go on say it, “skumfidus” hee hee hee, “skumfidus” hee hee hee.

Right now it is misting and I am shivering to the point of loosening teeth.  I am a Santa Barbara softy.  60 degrees with mist has me rattling and exploding in goosebumps.  “I can’t even look at you,” Susy turns away.  My goosebumps are surely contagious.  “Are you swimming?” Ricky asks.  Um no, no more swimming in the frigid ocean unless  I am on a boat that capsizes.  Last year I ran the McConnell’s 5K, the 10K, and then jumped in the ocean and swam.  I was attacked by two vicious charlie horses that set up camp in my calves for a week.  For me, giving up ocean swimming to focus more on running was about as hard as a non-smoker giving up cigarettes.  Puff-puff-hack.  Think I’ll quit.  Done.  Congrats.

“Get your ice cream,” Kevin jokes, “cold, creamy, ice-y cream.”  Tim and I stand and watch the 5K go off under the direction of Jordan Hasay.  Giddily, I go over to say hello to her and shake her hand.  Later I get a signed picture of her.  Yep, I’m a fan.  It is way too hard not to be!

Bethany has come out for the 10K, but just as a tempo workout.  I do not want a tempo workout, I want to race.  Earlier this year, I wrote up my goals that included my lofty 5K and a 10K time of 36:30.  I had some great track meets this summer, progress in my 5K, and Tuesday I ran fairly comfortably around and around the track at 5:52 to 5:46 pace for 6miles with of course the blessed recovery time caramelized in there. 

Cool misty morning.  No wind.  USATF certified and flat course.  Proper warm up.  Proper hydration and fuel.  Painted my finger nails go-go-purple.  I thought for sure I would run between 36:30 and 36:50.  I never doubted myself.  Jordan told us to “go.”

Brrrrr.  Still cold.  Mile one felt like butter and was way too fast.  I backed off and ran mile 2, 3, 4, dead on.  My 5K split hit 18:15.  Mile 5 began to eat up my seconds.  Mile 6 was my slowest mile which is perfectly consistent with having mile 1 be my fastest.  However, there was no cliff.  I hung fairly consistent mile 2-6, but still came up 37:07.  How quickly seconds can bleed away.  Once again, I tried my absolute hardest and that was all I had today.

I won the race and Kevin relayed that my time was the 4th fastest female 10K time run on the course.  So why so glum?  It is the curse of the persistent inner killer.  Nobody cares but me, but since I have to answer to me well, well, I guess that is all that matters.  This is why those that love me sometimes also call me crazy.  Actually, anyone who calls me crazy, I am just going to assume that they love me.  Ah-ha, gotcha.

“Ice cream?”  Um not yet.  Water.  Recovery drink.  And congrats to Tim who ran a huge PR of 36:34, Jaime who slammed a wicked last mile and PR’d with 36:49, and surprise….surprise, shocking that he should get a PR, but Ricky ran a 35:12.

Back up.  Ricky’s former 10K best was around 36:20.  He ran the 5K as a warm up, but still cleared the line in 18:35.  He sort of did his finishing sprint, but just for fun.  He tippy toed over the line with a smile.  I have to wonder what Ricky would have done if he’d sat that 5K out.  Who goes from a 36:20 to a 35:12!?  One Ho.  I am so jealous!  Todd (34:51), watch your back baby. Full results.

An hour cool down finally got the brain thinking ice cream.  “Think there is any left?” Tim asks.  We see the bins.  Oh-ho-ho, Rocky Road, Tin Roof, Mint Chip, Choc, Van, and Strawberry.  My daughter follows me over.

“Don’t give her anymore,” my husband yells, “she already had some.”  But who can say no to that face.  Wait, what just happened?  The world disappears somewhere between bites of Rocky Road, Tin Roof, and buckets of skumfidus drowning in a gallon sized can of chocolate syrup.  Did I run today?  Who am I?  Oh butterscotch sauce and crushed up cookies!  There is no talking, only eating.  I need to be physically removed from this table….

Oh look!  Twizzlers!

Thank you Kevin!  OK, just two more Twizzlers and this dixie cup of skumfidus to go.  Wait, I can take more if I chub some in my cheeks.  Mank U Kavan.  Thumbs up!

“Some of these parents,” Kevin says looking around the track while stretching quadriceps, “Really take this stuff seriously.”

Boy, this is the House of Track, and this is the third summer night at The Carpinteria’s All Comers Meet.  Welcome!

My usual suspects did not make it tonight, but that is just fine because I knew Carol was going to be here.  She is just back from club nationals in New York and looking for an 800 meter workout.  We warm up.  I watch her pre-race collection of strides, hops, and skips.  I know she will go out fast.  Game plan: Stick.

Bam!  Lap 1 feels easy.  I pass Carol on the final straight away.  Lap 1: 65 seconds.  Uh-oh.  I mentally start to dig into the second lap.  On the first straight away, the little pilot in my chest starts to notice some blinking red light and calmly a woman with a British accent begins to mechanically repeat, “Caution, this vessel set to self destruct.  Caution,…”  Already System, really?  200 meters.  Carol’s coach calls out to her.  I can hear her breathing.  “Dig, dig, dig!” I tell myself.  When I do, my legs rubber-band back at me threatening to become two noodles.  Final 100 meters and Carol is stuck on my right shoulder.  Neck and neck, pump, pump, dig, the pilot may have parachuted for safety as the Brit twit starts counting down kindly to my self implosion.  Carol pulls just every so slightly ahead, 3, 2, 1 Finish Line!  Carol 2:16:15; Drea 2:16:65. 

That was awesome!  We scream and yell with high fives and hugs.  PR’s all around.  What a race!  OK, bring on the oxygen!  Isn’t a little face mask supposed to drop down or something?  No?  No?  Just jog before everything seizes.

I stick around for the 3K.  Ah, I’m here and well, it’s just 7.5 more laps right?  I follow John who says he will run 80’s.  I want 81.  And 81’s served up easy peasy.  What?  Just like that?  Yes, just like that.  I felt good to the end: 10:08:33.

“Looks like you had a good night.”

“Why, yes, yes I did,” I reply to an official, “Thank you very much.”

Track-di-fied, I cannot sleep.  Maybe I’ll paint my nails.  Pink?  Orange?