At my run club a couple of weeks ago, the coordinator asked if we would be interested in a time trial at the following week’s club. I told her “definitely” and right after, I regretted my response. Having not done any speed work in nearly a year and being on the tail end of marathon recovery, as the week wore on and the time trial drew closer, my sense of regret grew exponentially.
When run club arrived, I’d hoped that maybe the coordinator had forgotten about the time trial or decided she didn’t want to bother with it. Instead, she announced that there would be a one-mile race following the regular run. Since I had nudged this idea into action, I felt obligated to participate. I ran a light three miles to loosen up, then made my way to the starting line.
Only seven of us (out of roughly forty at run club) lined up and based on what I knew about everyone else’s speed, I figured I’d finish somewhere between third and fifth. The course was on a mostly deserted road behind the store and would be out and back, with the first half uphill and the second half down. Chalk marks on the pavement indicated the start, turnaround, and finish.
The race started. As usual, the first 100 meters felt great. The speed was good, I was in fourth, and the thrill of the race was strong. And then you get 100 meters in and realize, “This is terrible.” The breathing becomes awful and, especially if you’re on an uphill start, you’re already feeling a slight burn. About twenty seconds after that gut punch, I dropped from fourth to sixth and could only think “I’m almost to the quarter-mile point.”
As we made our way from the quarter to the turnaround, “This is terrible” reverberated more and more strongly, and I glanced at my watch to see how close we were to the turnaround. If I could only get there, I thought I could possibly handle this thing.
A near knockout bout of “This is terrible” hit me, the turnaround appeared, and then something happened. I could see the next two runners ahead of me start to let up a little bit and I thought I might have a shot at passing them. When this happens in a race or time trial, it can serve as a boost of energy. We started our way back and downhill, and I made my move to pass them.
Once I’d passed them and gotten back into fourth, “This is terrible” quickly came back as I realized it would not be easy to keep them behind me. I started leaning on the idea that we had less than half the race to go. As I heard the footsteps behind me, I kept pushing harder and harder. The footsteps never relented, and I began to wonder if I’d surged too soon. I felt maxed out and there was no next gear to kick into. I checked my watch. A quarter mile to go.
From this point, I could see the finish line and I kept upping my speed. I was about 60% convinced I could hold on to my spot at this point, until we reached the “finish line” and were told that the course was short. We had another 150 meters to go. I hadn’t let up, thank goodness, and kept churning my legs, waiting for the glorious “beep” from my watch that would signal the one-mile point. By now, I was 90% sure I would keep my place but no matter, I pressed a bit harder.
Crossing the line was nothing short of relief. All of our lungs were burning and it would take a while to feel back to normal, but we were done. I’d barely held onto fourth with a 5:47. Not my fastest ever or even in recent years but given where my training stands, I’ll take it.
Even if you’re not prepared, a time trial can be a lot of fun. I suspect pride was fueling my reluctance to participate. Who wants to botch a race? “This is terrible” can be a common theme in any distance race and while it may seem odd that runners continue to race, there is an adrenaline factor that pushes us. Despite my lack of preparation and regret, the thrill of the race won out. Ultimately, it was fun.
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