My not so Greatest Race, yet still a Great Race
"In our 40 years of the Pittsburgh Great Race, we're experiencing record high heat, stay hydrated, be safe out there, good luck runners.."
Blood sugar, in check. I pat both pockets, 1 chocolate GU, 1 salted caramel GU. Shoes tied. Phone securely locked in place on my waist belt, my tunes at an appropriate level. The countdown to the gun, now under 1 minute. I took a few deep breaths, closed my eyes, opened them up, seconds before the gun. I glanced ahead, the gun is fired.
The summer heat was brutal here in Pittsburgh. I pushed through every run and told myself, tough training for fast fall racing. The past two years I've raced in end September, especially last year, the cool Autumn air was in full effect. Last year I can recall wearing a beanie because the morning air was quite chilly. Conditions out of a racer's utopia. I checked the weather forecast one week prior to race day, my mouth dropped. "Sunday September 24, High 90, mostly sunny." I thought by chance I entered the wrong city, I double checked, "omg, this is unreal.."
Anybody who disputes global warming, take a look at our weather conditions this past month and tell me you still disagree. I guess it was only fitting after enduring the brutal summer heat, rivaling Florida conditions, the Pittsburgh Fall Classic wanted to test it's runners on it's 40 year anniversary, and that it did.
The Great Race is traditionally a fast, and painful experience. Like most runners, our pain tolerance is as abnormal as our thought patterns, so this particular race caters well. It's a net downhill, but a classic quote from my trail running side, "when your running uphill and your legs are tiring, you can hike, when running downhill and your legs give out, well, you're fu**ed," oh so accurate.
Last year at the GR, I ran with a genius IQ. This year, I attempted to run like Chris Solinsky in 2010 when he set the American 10K record. Spoiler alert, I am not Chris Solinsky, and no records were achieved on September 24th. Overconfidence with my 2017 mileage had me bomb down the first two big downhills leaving Frick Park, weaving through Shady Side, onto 5th Ave. Mile 1, well under goal pace and hardly breathing, I was in the PR zone.
Mile 2, in hindsight was quite the omen. 311's "beautiful disaster" damn near gave me chills in record high heat, prompting me to surge past a group of intelligent racers, down another big downhill, rounding the bend into Oakland. The terrain started to even out, and I found myself behind a group of collegiate runners whose HR's I am guessing were barely out of their Aerobic zone, running like a warm up. "Oh this is humbling," I thought as my breathing was starting to pick up and suddenly my early suicide pace was living up to it's name.
Climbing the ever so steady hill of 5th Ave, the halfway point, I glanced up at the clock as I dumped two waters on my head, and polished off my chocolate GU. Slightly over the 5k mark, I was still on pace for sub 41, my A goal, but quickly beginning to regret the obnoxious early downhill pace.
"Damnit Andrew, you ran like an idiot back there, time to regroup," the painful chatter in my head is ever increasing as we begin our descent from 5th Ave, leaving Oakland. Fully exposed, running into the sun, my pace at mile 4 dropped to 6:55, nearly a 30 second drop in the last mile, not a good sign. Between 4 and 5.5, my pace dropped to 7:49, and the heat was really taking a toll on my stride rate.
Music is a big part of my life, I've always thought I lived to a soundtrack of choice varying with the moment. The last half mile section, running into the big crowd around Point State Park, pain threshold really taking it's toll, pace dropping off severely, I caught an uplifting tune. Honestly can't recall what it was, but it brought me back to life.
"Alright, settle into a zone and embrace this, can't let this moment become too big," words of last second hope fuel my finish line kick. Captured in a moment of time, all of the physical and mental preparation that goes into the conditioning of a finish line kick. Early experiences with racing in our elementary school's annual fall Jog-A-Thon unknowingly sparked a life long desire for that moment.
It's really something awe inspiring. Locking into a stranger's presence and stride rate, exerting all of your strength to cross the line before they do.
With maybe 30 yards left, ever so slightly edging out the random stranger next to me, I glanced up and smiled when I saw the 2.5 minute lapsed finishing time I had hoped for. Sensations of relief, and amazing joy though are my first thoughts after taking my shirt off and walking over to the water tent for immediate cooling relief.
Racing, let alone in those temperatures really is a serious endeavor, for any level. My best wishes go out to each runner that braved an odd day celebrating our moment in time, running Pittsburgh's Fall Classic. Maybe not my best race, probably not your's either, but in the end, it lived up to it's billing, the Great Race.
Blood sugar, in check. I pat both pockets, 1 chocolate GU, 1 salted caramel GU. Shoes tied. Phone securely locked in place on my waist belt, my tunes at an appropriate level. The countdown to the gun, now under 1 minute. I took a few deep breaths, closed my eyes, opened them up, seconds before the gun. I glanced ahead, the gun is fired.
The summer heat was brutal here in Pittsburgh. I pushed through every run and told myself, tough training for fast fall racing. The past two years I've raced in end September, especially last year, the cool Autumn air was in full effect. Last year I can recall wearing a beanie because the morning air was quite chilly. Conditions out of a racer's utopia. I checked the weather forecast one week prior to race day, my mouth dropped. "Sunday September 24, High 90, mostly sunny." I thought by chance I entered the wrong city, I double checked, "omg, this is unreal.."
Anybody who disputes global warming, take a look at our weather conditions this past month and tell me you still disagree. I guess it was only fitting after enduring the brutal summer heat, rivaling Florida conditions, the Pittsburgh Fall Classic wanted to test it's runners on it's 40 year anniversary, and that it did.
The Great Race is traditionally a fast, and painful experience. Like most runners, our pain tolerance is as abnormal as our thought patterns, so this particular race caters well. It's a net downhill, but a classic quote from my trail running side, "when your running uphill and your legs are tiring, you can hike, when running downhill and your legs give out, well, you're fu**ed," oh so accurate.
Last year at the GR, I ran with a genius IQ. This year, I attempted to run like Chris Solinsky in 2010 when he set the American 10K record. Spoiler alert, I am not Chris Solinsky, and no records were achieved on September 24th. Overconfidence with my 2017 mileage had me bomb down the first two big downhills leaving Frick Park, weaving through Shady Side, onto 5th Ave. Mile 1, well under goal pace and hardly breathing, I was in the PR zone.
Mile 2, in hindsight was quite the omen. 311's "beautiful disaster" damn near gave me chills in record high heat, prompting me to surge past a group of intelligent racers, down another big downhill, rounding the bend into Oakland. The terrain started to even out, and I found myself behind a group of collegiate runners whose HR's I am guessing were barely out of their Aerobic zone, running like a warm up. "Oh this is humbling," I thought as my breathing was starting to pick up and suddenly my early suicide pace was living up to it's name.
Climbing the ever so steady hill of 5th Ave, the halfway point, I glanced up at the clock as I dumped two waters on my head, and polished off my chocolate GU. Slightly over the 5k mark, I was still on pace for sub 41, my A goal, but quickly beginning to regret the obnoxious early downhill pace.
"Damnit Andrew, you ran like an idiot back there, time to regroup," the painful chatter in my head is ever increasing as we begin our descent from 5th Ave, leaving Oakland. Fully exposed, running into the sun, my pace at mile 4 dropped to 6:55, nearly a 30 second drop in the last mile, not a good sign. Between 4 and 5.5, my pace dropped to 7:49, and the heat was really taking a toll on my stride rate.
Music is a big part of my life, I've always thought I lived to a soundtrack of choice varying with the moment. The last half mile section, running into the big crowd around Point State Park, pain threshold really taking it's toll, pace dropping off severely, I caught an uplifting tune. Honestly can't recall what it was, but it brought me back to life.
"Alright, settle into a zone and embrace this, can't let this moment become too big," words of last second hope fuel my finish line kick. Captured in a moment of time, all of the physical and mental preparation that goes into the conditioning of a finish line kick. Early experiences with racing in our elementary school's annual fall Jog-A-Thon unknowingly sparked a life long desire for that moment.
It's really something awe inspiring. Locking into a stranger's presence and stride rate, exerting all of your strength to cross the line before they do.
With maybe 30 yards left, ever so slightly edging out the random stranger next to me, I glanced up and smiled when I saw the 2.5 minute lapsed finishing time I had hoped for. Sensations of relief, and amazing joy though are my first thoughts after taking my shirt off and walking over to the water tent for immediate cooling relief.
I, really, really don't like the heat to that extent, but it was a unique experience. 15 seconds slower than a PR, and over 2 minutes off from goal pace isn't the ideal finish but given the extreme conditions though, it's a blessing to cross the line healthy and be strength training 24 hours later. Little egotistical goals of one's self goes out the window when you read over 30 people were treated with heat related illness, and a dozen or so were taken to the hospital for dehydration and heat exhaustion, that's scary.
Racing, let alone in those temperatures really is a serious endeavor, for any level. My best wishes go out to each runner that braved an odd day celebrating our moment in time, running Pittsburgh's Fall Classic. Maybe not my best race, probably not your's either, but in the end, it lived up to it's billing, the Great Race.
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