Tuesday, April 17, 2012

2012 Peterson Ridge Fumble

Here is the conversation I have been having in my head the last couple days...

Smart Me:  Really?  What were you thinking starting that race?  When you did 4 miles on Friday, your first attempt at a run all week since being sick, you stated in your log, and I quote, "no way in hell I could go 40 on Sunday".

Dumb Me:  I dunno.  I guess I thought it would be worth a try.  I felt good.  And for the record, I didn't go 40 on Sunday...

Smart Me:  Whatever.  So you decide to (try to) race 40 miles.  Good on you.  Why go out so fast?

Dumb Me:  Right.  Good question.  Honestly, I was in the mood to run by myself and do my own thing.  It really wasn't that fast, 6:45s on a dead flat road.  I was hitting the same sort of splits when I quit.  I was really surprised no one tagged along, especially with the runners in the field that day.  Went out faster last year, and certainly wasn't in the lead then...

Smart Me:  Shouldn't you pay attention to the course marking if you run out front?  Seems dumb to give all that time up by going off course.

Dumb Me:  That was dumb.

Smart Me:  So what happened?  Why the DNF?  You weren't running poorly?

Dumb Me:  I know.  I was running really well, right where I wanted.  But around mile 19, I stopped for a sec to rearrange a few things and got this horrible coughing attack.  My breathing had felt good, but man, that gave me reason to worry a bit.  I told myself going into this, I wasn't going to force this run if I was in any danger of aggravating whatever sickness I still had, or showed any signs of bringing it into my chest.  Not worth it.  Can't miss any work as I have jobs stacked as it is, and just the night before Ruth had mentioned she was starting to feel bad.  If she was getting half of what I had all week, I had to be able to pick up any slack, not feel lousy myself.  Especially since I knew she would be sore and tired from her first 20 miler.  So I turned around, headed back to the aid station to tell folks I was dropping.

Smart Me:  That must have been fun.

Dumb Me:  Yeah.  Awesome feeling having everyone give that look as they ran past...

Smart Me:  So then what?

Dumb Me:  So I trot the 4 miles back to the start.  Change my clothes, watch buddy Yassine win the 20 miler, hang around for Ruth to finish and the kids to show up, cheer runners, eat some nice food, soak up some much needed sun.  It was great.

Ruth (left)