Happy Birthday. Now Go Suffer.
For this first time this year, we cracked our bedroom window to let in the cooling Central Oregon air and the sing-song melody from the frog and cricket population supported by the canal and gradually warming spring temperatures. Falling asleep has been a puzzle for me on most nights, but race night usually takes the longest to get all the pieces together. I was thankful for the cooler temperatures, even if it meant that yesterdays' 70 degree sun would give way to 45 degree rain clouds in time for the gun.
Last year, a lingering knee issue kept me out of the 13.1 distance for the season opener. After a trip to see Jay and a prescription for more abduction exercises, I cracked the case and showed up to the Bend Half ready to rock; this would be the first half I'd run since 2016 back in Fairbanks, and though the courses were very different, I was kinda hoping for a PR. As the first race since September, though, my main focus was to make a realistic plan an stick to it.
The course has about 750 feet of elevation and save for the last mile, which ended up being swollen with joggers running other distances by the time we got there, had very few flat sections. Two hours before setting off, I only had bulletproof coffee for breakfast and a scoop of exogenous ketones for good measure. For the first time, I was truly starting a race properly carb-fasted, putting my money where my mouth was. I've been exploring the world of fat-adaptation for almost two years now, but today would be the first test to see how it played out in a race.
Climbing the first long, gradual hill, a group of about a dozen spearheaded up Galveston. I let them go and kept reminding myself to settle in. This is Bend and my first race this year; there are going to be some pretty elite guys out here today and sticking to my plan was foremost.
At mile 1.5, I was passed by a guy that would by my rabbit for the next 7 miles. I found a groove, doing my best to stay in the moment and appreciate how much further I had to run and stay at this pace. The 200 (in the pool) serves as a wonderful proxy for good pacing. It's very easy to go out too fast and the importance of negative splitting can't be stressed enough. You seriously have to slow down your perceived effort for that first 50 or you won't be able to hold on to your best pace in the back third. And while your speed may not necessarily be faster in the second hundred, it's vital that your effort goes from chill to berserk and not the other way around, for that strategy will lose every time.
On to Skyline Ranch Road, the most rolling and challenging climbing section, my rabbit maintained a steady distance out front and his pacing was holding true; we caught a runner that seemed to be faltering already. Steadily but surely, I negotiated each roller, listening closely to my heart beat. I knew as soon as I could start to feel the pulse running up my neck, I needed to back off. By the time the highest point of the race had passed, I knew there was at least another 5 miles that would offer slightly flatter roads; if I'd gone slightly too slow up the hills, I could still leverage the energy savings later...
The quick and short descent from Tethrow spat us out onto Century Road where we shared a lane with cars headed up to Bachelor. The rain still stuttered on our heads and each car crested a shower of road water towards the racers. The pain was starting to set it, but by now, I'd found my flow and the most technical portions of the race were behind me. For good measure, I threw down a GU, my first real hit of carbs for several days, to do everything I could to make sure all cylinders were firing. The sick, sticky sweetness wasn't the most pleasurable thing but even for a keto-adapted athlete, I think there's still something to be said of telling your brain that glucose is present, at least in the ladder stages of an endurance event. (Metabolic flexibility is ultimately the goal for race performance, after all, right?)
We passed Good Dog Trailhead, looped under Century, and began our 4 mile descent back towards the river trail and the finish line. The moment the trail started to pitch downward, I lit a match and fired up the afterburners; top gear, the energy was there. My plan was working. I was catching my rabbit. While on Skyline Ranch, I wasn't totally sure I'd be able to catch him, but it turns out, he was hurting worse than me...a profound lesson that you can only learn by racing. There's never a way to know just how close to the brink another racer is. You must just "keep buggering on" and challenge the depth of your own well without their outward performance dictating the heat of your fire. If you let their pace get in your head, you've already lost.
Then he did something unexpected. He stopped at the next aid station to grab a cup instead of running through. I don't think he knew just how close I was. Without missing a beat, I zipped past his left shoulder. I heard the cup fall to the gravel-strewn trail but it was too late.
Two more racers were now in the cross hairs. Steady, now. I bit into their lead fractions of a second at a time, but there was still 5k to the finish. Time was still on my side. I just had to believe that I had a better finish in my legs than they did. I dispatched one of the runners just a mile later, his tanks near empty. The next was a bit more a challenge.
I was breathing down his neck as we descended a rocky trail to the river with some abandon until we merged with a gaggle of runners completing their 5 or 10k course on the same path. The last two miles turned into an obstacle course.
We clambered up a short ascent to the next turn and he surged. A flash of doubt fired through my brain as we crossed the pedestrian bridge toward Farewell Bend park. He put 20 meters on me and if he held the surge, I wasn't sure I could take it. I put it out of my mind, did my best to get my breathing back under control, viscous spit pulling at the sides of my mouth, and stay steady. Sure enough, not a quarter mile later, his surge got the best of him and he fell back. I couldn't take it for granted though, and kept digging, all while trying to navigate the throng.
With just a half mile left, there was yet one more racer in sight. Crossing the last pedestrian bridge proved to be more complicated than one would think. Families were running 3-abreast on that wet, narrow, walkway at a much slower pace than the half marathoners coming through. I managed to shout something like, "on your left!" through my drying throat. Again I shouted and still no one seemed to care. The whole family kindly wore headphones to numb themselves from the pleasures of racing and suffering. I don't understand why people don't want to get their money's worth sometimes. I was fighting to claw my way to that last racer and I didn't have time for pleasantries on the pretty bridge; I had no choice but to give that young racer a stiff shove to get through...
The dude had a kick, too, and I was hurting. I forced myself to make a decision in that last few hundred, painful meters: that guy can beat you, maybe, but you'd better decide now that you're crossing that line with nothing left. Come what may, empty the friggin tank.
Last year, a lingering knee issue kept me out of the 13.1 distance for the season opener. After a trip to see Jay and a prescription for more abduction exercises, I cracked the case and showed up to the Bend Half ready to rock; this would be the first half I'd run since 2016 back in Fairbanks, and though the courses were very different, I was kinda hoping for a PR. As the first race since September, though, my main focus was to make a realistic plan an stick to it.
The course has about 750 feet of elevation and save for the last mile, which ended up being swollen with joggers running other distances by the time we got there, had very few flat sections. Two hours before setting off, I only had bulletproof coffee for breakfast and a scoop of exogenous ketones for good measure. For the first time, I was truly starting a race properly carb-fasted, putting my money where my mouth was. I've been exploring the world of fat-adaptation for almost two years now, but today would be the first test to see how it played out in a race.
Climbing the first long, gradual hill, a group of about a dozen spearheaded up Galveston. I let them go and kept reminding myself to settle in. This is Bend and my first race this year; there are going to be some pretty elite guys out here today and sticking to my plan was foremost.
At mile 1.5, I was passed by a guy that would by my rabbit for the next 7 miles. I found a groove, doing my best to stay in the moment and appreciate how much further I had to run and stay at this pace. The 200 (in the pool) serves as a wonderful proxy for good pacing. It's very easy to go out too fast and the importance of negative splitting can't be stressed enough. You seriously have to slow down your perceived effort for that first 50 or you won't be able to hold on to your best pace in the back third. And while your speed may not necessarily be faster in the second hundred, it's vital that your effort goes from chill to berserk and not the other way around, for that strategy will lose every time.
On to Skyline Ranch Road, the most rolling and challenging climbing section, my rabbit maintained a steady distance out front and his pacing was holding true; we caught a runner that seemed to be faltering already. Steadily but surely, I negotiated each roller, listening closely to my heart beat. I knew as soon as I could start to feel the pulse running up my neck, I needed to back off. By the time the highest point of the race had passed, I knew there was at least another 5 miles that would offer slightly flatter roads; if I'd gone slightly too slow up the hills, I could still leverage the energy savings later...
The quick and short descent from Tethrow spat us out onto Century Road where we shared a lane with cars headed up to Bachelor. The rain still stuttered on our heads and each car crested a shower of road water towards the racers. The pain was starting to set it, but by now, I'd found my flow and the most technical portions of the race were behind me. For good measure, I threw down a GU, my first real hit of carbs for several days, to do everything I could to make sure all cylinders were firing. The sick, sticky sweetness wasn't the most pleasurable thing but even for a keto-adapted athlete, I think there's still something to be said of telling your brain that glucose is present, at least in the ladder stages of an endurance event. (Metabolic flexibility is ultimately the goal for race performance, after all, right?)
We passed Good Dog Trailhead, looped under Century, and began our 4 mile descent back towards the river trail and the finish line. The moment the trail started to pitch downward, I lit a match and fired up the afterburners; top gear, the energy was there. My plan was working. I was catching my rabbit. While on Skyline Ranch, I wasn't totally sure I'd be able to catch him, but it turns out, he was hurting worse than me...a profound lesson that you can only learn by racing. There's never a way to know just how close to the brink another racer is. You must just "keep buggering on" and challenge the depth of your own well without their outward performance dictating the heat of your fire. If you let their pace get in your head, you've already lost.
Then he did something unexpected. He stopped at the next aid station to grab a cup instead of running through. I don't think he knew just how close I was. Without missing a beat, I zipped past his left shoulder. I heard the cup fall to the gravel-strewn trail but it was too late.
Two more racers were now in the cross hairs. Steady, now. I bit into their lead fractions of a second at a time, but there was still 5k to the finish. Time was still on my side. I just had to believe that I had a better finish in my legs than they did. I dispatched one of the runners just a mile later, his tanks near empty. The next was a bit more a challenge.
I was breathing down his neck as we descended a rocky trail to the river with some abandon until we merged with a gaggle of runners completing their 5 or 10k course on the same path. The last two miles turned into an obstacle course.
We clambered up a short ascent to the next turn and he surged. A flash of doubt fired through my brain as we crossed the pedestrian bridge toward Farewell Bend park. He put 20 meters on me and if he held the surge, I wasn't sure I could take it. I put it out of my mind, did my best to get my breathing back under control, viscous spit pulling at the sides of my mouth, and stay steady. Sure enough, not a quarter mile later, his surge got the best of him and he fell back. I couldn't take it for granted though, and kept digging, all while trying to navigate the throng.
With just a half mile left, there was yet one more racer in sight. Crossing the last pedestrian bridge proved to be more complicated than one would think. Families were running 3-abreast on that wet, narrow, walkway at a much slower pace than the half marathoners coming through. I managed to shout something like, "on your left!" through my drying throat. Again I shouted and still no one seemed to care. The whole family kindly wore headphones to numb themselves from the pleasures of racing and suffering. I don't understand why people don't want to get their money's worth sometimes. I was fighting to claw my way to that last racer and I didn't have time for pleasantries on the pretty bridge; I had no choice but to give that young racer a stiff shove to get through...
The dude had a kick, too, and I was hurting. I forced myself to make a decision in that last few hundred, painful meters: that guy can beat you, maybe, but you'd better decide now that you're crossing that line with nothing left. Come what may, empty the friggin tank.
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| Top 10. Happy Birthday. |
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