Heading into the Love Run 5K in Westlake Village, I had no illusions of breaking 16, but I did think a road 5K PR (under 16:17) was possible. Several things were working in my favor at this event: flat course (~70 feet total climb), great weather (in the 60s, no wind), and fairly good fitness. I also spontaneously snagged a pair of new flats during packet pickup at Roadrunner Sports the day before. They were "lightly used" Nike Flyknit Racers, selling for roughly 1/3 of their original lofty price. I typically do hours of research before buying a pair of shoes, but I was very nervous about racing in my other flats, which caused me to lose a toenail after the Blessing last year, so I jumped on the opportunity to nab a replacement pair. These fit like a glove and felt great, so I took a chance.
Race day arrived and, as in my last race, I lined up next to a friend, a few rows back, despite knowing full well that I'd have to weave my way up to an appropriate position after the race started. As I was standing there, stuck behind some high school girls, I realized that there were some perks to starting in the pack. No, standing behind high school girls wasn't one of them. This vantage point allowed me to scope out the competition while remaining somewhat anonymous myself, so scope I did. There's an art to this, by the way. I've learned there are several tricks runners can play to make themselves look fast when they might not really be: tight-fitting clothing (bonus points for neon colors), 4 oz flats, a nice tan, being handsome, general youthfulness, toned muscles. So how do I know if someone is actually fast? I don't, but I usually figure it out after a couple miles of racing (har, har). There were a couple of fast-lookers on the line, so I made sure to take note and look for them out on the course.
As we started, I was able to get through the crowd with surprising ease and was already in the lead after 15 or 20 seconds. There were audible footsteps behind me for about a half mile, but they vanished, leaving me and my soon-to-be best friend "Rick," the lead cyclist. So much for the fast-lookers. Rick and I passed the mile marker in 5:16 (I was targeting 5:15) and continued on our way. I wondered why the race organizers bothered to have a lead cyclist for this well-marked course with just a few turns. I wondered no more when we turned onto Hampshire Rd. and merged with the 10K runners. This is when Rick and I really bonded. He dinged his bell and announced my presence like I was a visitor to Downton Abbey for each 10K runner we approached. ("The Earl of Charlestown, Chris Garvin...," or something like that.) This had varying effects on these runners. People with headphones were oblivious of course, and nearly everyone else acted like Rick's announcements were serious affronts to their solitude and in return slung all manner of expletives back at him. I don't know why this was. In some cases, I think they thought he was a random biker trying to mow them down, and only when I came by a few seconds later did they realize what he was shouting about. In other cases, there was a "why is this 5K leader so special? I paid for this race, too," kind of vibe. Regardless, it gave me constant amusement along with a clear path to run.
I reached mile 2 in a surprising 5:10, my two-mile time equaling my high school 3200 PR, which was a little depressing in retrospect. After a few seconds of regret over my high school career, I realized I'd settled a little too much at the start of the third mile, my watch showing "5:20" pace after a tenth of a mile or so. I consciously picked up the pace, though my legs were starting to feel fatigued, and was able to bring the pace down enough to log a 5:12 for the mile-3 split. I never saw this, since I was focused on getting myself to the finish in one piece. The mostly-flat course had a slight rise just before reaching the third mile, and this little slope change took a lot out of me. I recovered enough on the ensuing downhill to make one final push as I made the last turn and headed up an SBS (short-but-steep) hill to the finish line. (Despite Strava giving me credit for not a single foot of elevation gain during the race, there were actually some bumps on the course!)
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| Mile 2.5. The droopier the lower lip, the more tired I am. This is ~90% droop. Note the WTAC representation in California! |
Still, slightly short or not, this was a road 5K PR. And maybe it's better that I didn't just sneak under 16, since it might not have been legit.
But wait! Despite the time shown on the results board just after the race being 16:00, the online results have me listed as 15:59. It must have been the difference between the chip vs. gun time, since I'd started ten feet behind the starting line. Forget everything I'd just said - it was a sub-16 5K on a totally accurate 5K course! Etch it in stone! (One final note - this was a new course this year. The previous out-and-back version was USATF certified. I can only hope this was, too, but that the certification hasn't yet been posted. This is serious stuff, folks. My legacy is on the line.) All kidding aside, now I have incentive to find another flat course and put any uncertainty about the sub-16 to rest.
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| Putting the "cool" in cool down. (I wish I looked this relaxed during the race.) |
