Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Round 2 at the Denver Skirtchaser


Joel has been working like a madman, finishing up a giant project. As such, he rarely has time away from the computer for things like exercising, eating, or sleeping. (I have tried to be extra supportive of him by compensating for his lack in those three areas. I'm a giver.) So last Tuesday I gently reminded him, "So...we have that race on Saturday." "Yep," he nodded, "I'll probably try to go for a run today for a few minutes."

Honestly, I'm glad he hasn't had time to train. This would be Sylvia's and my second time running the Skirtchaser, but it would be the men's first. The idea is that it's a 5k where the women get a 3-minute head start. I knew that Sylvia's husband had been running a bunch, and he's a competitor, but Sylvia confided in me that she really hoped he wouldn't catch her. I figured I was probably home free, unless I passed out at mile 1.

I had no idea that would actually be a very real possibility. (Spoiler alert: I finished and beat the men.) Reality check: starting a race at 3 in the afternoon, on pavement with no shade, under a cloudless sky, in temperatures around 86 degrees is not something I would recommend. I was sweating and uncomfortable before we started. The adrenaline and energy of the race make it nearly impossible to keep your legs at an easy pace. So right around the 1 mile mark, I began to feel light-headed.

I was about a minute slower than last year, clocking in around 28:11, but that's with about a minute or so of walking when I realized my heart was about to flatline. No seriously. Can we talk about heartrates for a second? The old equation I was taught was that you subtract your age from 220, then try to keep your heartrate between 60-80% of that number for optimal cardio, right? Well let's just throw that equation out the window because I seem to have acquired traits from both my parents for some weird hybrid heart. I have the slow at-rest heartrate of my mother (around 50), but I have inherited my dad's hamster-esque heartrate when I'm active. So on a run, depending on what I've eaten or how I'm feeling, my average heartrate is usually somewhere between 160-170 (the longer the run, the higher the number). Once my heartrate hits around 180 and up, I start to not feel so well. I can tell when I've hit 182 because I feel like I might throw up.

Now that you have that background, you might understand why I felt so awful when my AVERAGE heartrate turned out to be 182. Now some of that is decidedly adrenaline. But even for my half-marathon, when my insides felt like they were trying to crawl outside, my average heartrate was 173. So when I looked down at my Garmin and saw 189, I thought, "Whoa, sister. Beating Joel isn't worth it!" I think the heat was affecting everyone (except the winner, though, at like 16 minutes or something), because I still managed to finish a few minutes before the boys.

I was neither sunburned nor inebriated, so I don't know why I look like Rudolph's sister. 

It was fun, despite the heat. And about half an hour after we crossed the finish line, the clouds rolled in. Then I came home and ate a pizza. And ice cream with fudge sauce.

And now I'm eyeing the 2012 calendar and marking events. It's going to be the year of NEW things.
But always with the pizza.

1 comments:

TripleM said...

New things like a Ragnar Relay...July something? :-)