I have stood at too many start lines to count over my thirty plus years as a competitive athlete, between settling into blocks when I was in high school running the hurdles, shivering in a wetsuit at the edge of frigid glacial waters in Alaska, or the many, MANY road races I have run spanning the spectrum of distance(s) from the 5K all the way up to 50K, and although I enjoy the frenzied energy found at every single start line, I often feel relief, realizing the hardest part of the race is over at that point, and what comes after the gun cracks is pure joy.

Since last week was week two of my twelve week build toward the Boston marathon, I should’ve completed a long, steady run between 14-15 miles on Sunday, instead I ran one slow mile (warm up), one tempo mile (marathon pace), followed by slightly over four miles at threshold effort (sub 7:15min. mi.) at the Redondo Beach Superbowl Sunday 10K race!

True, racing a 10K so soon into a marathon build is an unconventional choice. The key to this portion of training is building a foundation of endurance by accumulating miles, and including intensity (speed) in reasonable three to five minutes efforts within one workout per week, versus a continuous effort of intensity for over four miles within a race, but I have mountains of miles baked into my fitness foundation, and my husband, Marion, wanted to run the race, his first dalliance of competition in over a decade, a monumental feat I helped guide him toward, and wanted to share with him, too.

Therefore, I shifted my week of workouts slotting in the long run from Sunday to Thursday, but due to an impromptu home construction project that popped up on Thursday morning, lasted all day, and bled into Friday, there was no time left before the race for an adequate long run. Alas, I cobbled together a quality training stimulus with the limited time I had to run by cranking out eight hilly miles on Friday (before workers arrived to our house, and I was chased by a dog), followed by ten (peaceful) miles, and a recovery swim on Saturday, and finally capped off by a hard 6.2 mile romp on Sunday during the race. Indeed, it was not an ideal second week of a marathon build, but it did provide an opportunity to test my confidence while having a lot of fun doing it.

When I found a place among the crowd behind the starting line, I wasn’t sure how my body would react to the invitation to run 6.2 miles quicker than it had been used to moving since my last race in mid-October, the Victoria marathon on Vancouver Island. I had barely nudged under eight minute mile pace during most training runs, so my expectations were low, borderline non-existent, because 10K’s are not my specialty, it is a much shorter distance than I typically race, but the reason I have been a competitive runner for most of my life, and why I love to race, no matter the distance, or event, is because I believe in my ability to rise to the occasion and push my effort to the limit, even when it hurts, because it hurts; because race courses are contained, safe spaces, (mostly), that allow courage to flourish, they invite people to be brave enough to compete with themselves, and to compete with others, to explore new sensations, to taunt failure, and to embrace success, it’s all there, a microcosm of a lifetime, ripe and ready to experience.

Post race celebrations with our friends and fellow runners. From left: Jabbar Raisani, Ryan Halpin, and my hub, Marion.

I knew the first mile would be slow due to the large crowd, it was, and the second mile slapped us with a respectable hill, but my legs were firing, and I didn’t consider any reason not to keep increasing my pace with every step, and weave around my competitors.

The course was just as I remembered from the last time, I raced it in 2006, and Marion and I ran five miles on it last Saturday as a recon mission because I wanted him to be as prepared as possible, so I knew what was coming, while never swaying from the moment I was in. The distance was not the challenge, rather it was how long I would keep my effort on the rivet before letting go?

I wanted more tarmac. The finish line appeared when I thought it would, but it felt too soon, a positive sign that my fitness is increasing, and/or that I prefer, or am more accustomed to longer distance races, or simply because I didn’t want that joyful (primal) feeling to end?

All races do end at some point, even if we don’t make it to the finish how we want to; it’s choosing to race that is the real joy, choosing to be uncomfortable, to be proud of ourselves, to be amazed by others, and accept a wallop of life to throw us around the dance floor (race course) on any given sunny (Superbowl) Sunday.

Post race meet-up with my friend and former athlete, Jennifer Kawahira.

The book I read last week was the revered and highly recommended Buddhist and psychotherapy combo, “Going To Pieces Without Falling Apart,“ written by Dr. Mark Epstein.

I appreciated the lessons Epstein laid out in the book including the Buddhist belief of detachment, a helpful belief to tap into while racing, “The ability to embrace the moment takes precedence over fear of its passing.” That is how I allowed myself to experience the race, to simply be in the moment, push my effort, and not worry, or acknowledge at all what the outcome would be from that effort. If you haven’t read it yet, I highly recommend adding it to your collection, it is a definite re-read contender.