For those of us in the yellow corral, the race began in earnest at 8:50 a.m. Notwithstanding the months of anticipation, I experienced no initial shot of adrenaline, nor did I expect to. Knowing that the goal was simply to make it to the end, I began at a slow, steady pace with the intention of speeding up later. I also planned to incorporate regular one-minute walk breaks into my run. Initially, I planned to walk one minute for every two minutes running, and, as the race progressed, I hoped to spread my walk breaks out more. It did not take long, however, for me to realize that, given the heat, I would have to stick to the two-plus-one formula.
And what about the heat? As the race began, it was hot and humid, but the conditions were more like what one might expect in, say, mid-June than in late July. This is not to suggest that the heat was any more welcome, especially since Philadelphians hadn't had an opportunity to train in similar conditions in the weeks leading up to the race. Yet it was easy to recall that I had run in far worse conditions.
At the beginning the course drops about 60 feet over about 3/4 of a mile before rising 40 feet over about the next half-mile. Ahead of me, then, I saw a huge mass of runners climbing the first hill. Indeed, it was the upper torsos and heads of the runners in front of me that outlined the contours of the road, and they rolled over the hill like a sea of colorful figures on a conveyor belt. The sight was simultaneously exciting and bizarre: were there really so many people who were crazy enough to run 10 miles, let alone in this heat?
I was coming close to finishing the second mile when I began to realize that I was going to have to do what I had feared: I was going to bow to the demands of my bladder. Had I overhydrated? Could I have drunk less water? I didn't want to second-guess my pre-race strategy: in that day's heat, the goal was to finish. At any rate, I had to forfeit six minutes as I waited in line.
No comments:
Post a Comment