Difference between running and racing to me: painface or no painface. If there's a starting line, chances are I'll get down to my painface.
Take the 5k photo of NYTimes fame (fame is used loosely here and might be an excuse to bring up the fact that I was in the NYTimes). Yes. It is a fun run. For Valentines Day. Yes, I have hearts drawn in lipstick on my legs. Yes, I am wearing a skirt. And yes, I'm also knocking on death's door. Why? Because of this simple equation: (3 months of egg nog + ass sitting) + (startline + dropping a sub 5:20 first mile) = hair on fire scream impersonation.
If there's a start and a finish and someone is timing it I'll get ugly. If you think you can't break your PR, but have never made the above face I have good news: you can break it. I also have bad news: you might need to make the face.
Anyway, yesterday I lined up to race the Seattle Half. I was proud of how the race went for a few reasons:
- My mental state was stronger than Bellingham. At Bellingham I was complimenting everyone but me in my head. I was giving myself excuses and 0 pep talk. This race I had lots of excuses I could have taken: I just got over the flu. I wasn't trained or tapered specifically for the race. My feet were wet. My shoe was coming untied... but I shut myself up and only let my inner voice talk if it had something nice or constructive to say.
- I didn't walk. This is a plus that doesn't need much explanation. I took in little sips of Gatorade. I controlled my breathing and my stride when I got tired. No foot cramps, controlled side cramps.
- I warmed up calmly. Could have made a more concrete warm up plan, but what I did was good and I convinced myself it was the best thing ever as I lined up.
I finished 2nd with a time of 1:21:54. I'm sick of running in the :20s but this course was hilly so I'll certainly take it with pride. But my goal is to leave the :20s behind.
No event is complete without the Sarahism. I have a knack for awkwardness. I blame my eternal 13-year-old. This time it's about mascara. I race in mascara. It's just part of race morning. I used to fully shower and blow dry my hair, but I'm over that. The only ritual I cling to is mascara. It gives me the feeling that I've put myself together.
I wear DiorShow and I have been assured by the Sephora
dealer saleswoman that it's waterproof. What little miss thang doesn't know is that sweat + hanging fog will take Dior down. Way down. Down my face, down my neck... dooooown.
So while I'm feeling pretty good and quite composed, what I don't know is that my face looks like a dethroned beauty queen after a 3 hour crying jag. My friend Dave was the first to alert me to this. He came over to say good job surpressing a laugh before telling me that I had mascara all over my face. Ugh. I just hoped I was moving fast enough that no one noticed.
Then this morning my sister-in-law sees my photo in a CrossCut newsletter and forwards it to me. WHAT the what!? Someone has taken a photo of me full painface, mascara rivers flowing, right at my kick, and published it to a handful of groups on Flickr. CrossCut has favorited it, and included it in an email blast.
The random awkwardness that is my life...