lake to lake 10K recap
I’ve experienced two bizarre races so far this season. Both ended more satisfactorily than I expected, yet were not free of hitches – stitches, in these cases. During the Fort Desoto 15K in September, I slammed out an unexpected pace before my right side locked up and I lost two minutes in mile 8. In the Lake to Lake 10K last weekend, a one minute increase during mile 5 rocketed my overall pace 10 seconds slower. In both instances, though, I set fresh PRs and couldn’t hold too much anger over the results.
I placed first in the 25-29 age group in the Lake to Lake 10K, and landed one of the most gorgeous medals I own. Aside from the cramp, this race proved nearly perfect. A cold front dashed Central Florida with overnight lows in the mid-upper 60s, so I awoke at 5am to windows free of dew and a resulting optimism in my upcoming gallivant. I sat on my yoga mat in the quiet house, munched some toast and sipped half a cup of coffee, before twisting my hair into a ponytail and exchanging my pajamas for my business suit.
In the car, the Check Engine light flicked on upon startup. Great.
45 minutes on I-4 with soft jazz and dangling pendant streetlights carried me to the Peggy Brown Pavilion’s adjacent parking lot. I departed extra early to ensure I could find a slot into which my car could slip, so much of my time pre-race I wandered the grounds and took in the strips of reflected light darting along Lake Mirror. Lakeland Runners Club organizes the 10K, and it seemed the runners as a general knew one another very well so a vibe of camaraderie drifted about the park. The pavilion housed an organized setup of munchies like bagel halves and cream cheese, orange slices, bananas, small granola bars, and travelers of coffee to fuel hungry athletes. I forewent food and meandered, catching whiffs of the blossoming roses twisting on their vines, feeling a bit more nervous as the sun commenced its slow, measured ascent up the curved aperture of sky.
One very impressive facet of the Lake to Lake 10K was its promptness. The race director did not mess around. The gun popped at 7:30, as scheduled, for the seeded runners, and 7:31 for the open corral. I planted myself near the front of the line, and once our horn sounded, I leapt over the start mat and entered the arena. The course took us on a tour of a chain of three lakes. We scrambled about part of Lake Mirror, heaved upwards on Massachusetts Avenue, and landed on the shore of Lake Morton. Upon our exit from Morton, we crawled up another relatively steep incline before falling onto the trail of massive Lake Hollingsworth. We mingled with everyday pedestrians here but all were courteous and attentive to the racers. After circling Hollingsworth entirely, we huffed back up a hill and dropped to the opposite end of Lake Morton, up one final ascent before our return to Lake Mirror and a momentum-driven .2 mile sprint to the finish.
Miles 1-3 felt strong but suspicious. My legs whipped me to a low-8 pace early, with miles one and two clocked in at 8:04 and 8:01, and though I was uncertain of its sustainability I shrugged and let it happen as long as it may. Imagine my shock, then, when a 7:56 popped up for mile 3! I have NEVER run a sub-8 mile except when time trialing a one mile dash.
Mile 4 I lost my breath control, and I had the inkling that something might go wrong very soon. My inhales turned sharp and shallow, and as they did I noticed the familiar pressure building in my right ribcage. No, no, no no… So rose the sensation of my ribs separating and a huge fist peeling my intercostals. I let out a vast exhale and slowed to a walk. I’ve mentioned before that I can run through most pain, but I cannot bargain with a stitch: it grabs ahold of my core and rips mercilessly until my full attention is devoted to it. Instead of a dead stop, though, I decided to move as briskly as I could while pressing into my diaphragm and practicing forceful exhales. Several runners I passed earlier whipped by me, but shouted “You can do it!” A bit of encouragement goes lengths in these moments. I started to run again but frowned at the mile 5 split: 9:22. What can you do?
I do wonder how much of the stitch is caused by too hard of an effort. Perhaps it is my body’s way of correcting an overzealous pace. Laura pointed out that my warmups are probably insufficient, and the sudden stressors I place on my body force it to eventually shut down. I am convinced both factors contribute, as I did not jog to shake the cobwebs out before diving into an 8-minute bulldoze. Something to keep at heart for next time.
Mile 6 I recovered for an 8:03 split. Being the close of the race, I ignored my worries of exploding into shards and gathered all of my muscle power to plow up the last hill. My breath wheezed and my calves yelled obscenities, but I crested the uptick and flew to the pavement of Lake Mirror and the distant grumble of music and chatter. The final .2 miles were a 7:09 pace – I didn’t feel my legs at that point. I hoped vaguely to beat 51 minutes, but unless I sprouted wings I knew that probably wouldn’t happen. But 51:08? Highly respectable. A PR. Good enough for first in my age group.
I picked up a tangent of .01 miles, which is incredible for any road race. I grabbed water and strolled slowly to cool down while chatting with an elderly fellow named Louis who’d finished a couple minutes behind me. We headed up to the pavilion to check our results, when I confirmed my reception of an award. I killed the hour between race conclusion and ceremony playing with my camera and tripod in front of the lake. At one point, two of the seeded runners came by, and after I made a somewhat embarrassed quip about my fancy selfie-ing one of them offered to take a photo for me. Once done, I put my equipment up and stood around the pavilion by myself until a kind lady noted my aloneness and made conversation for awhile. She’d thought I raced an Ironman 70.3 because of my boyfriend’s commemorative visor (which is now my good luck hat), and I had to quickly debunk that assumption.
Awards came and went, and once the camera snapped and the next age group called up, I headed out for a couple of last-minute pictures on my own Canon and drove home to a cozy brunch and a haze of the morning’s race to consider. I itch to run again, and am eyeing the Florida Holiday Halfathon/10K in December to quell my urge to boogy down another road course.
Final results: 51:08, 8:14 pace (8:12 by my watch and 6.23 miles).
And thankfully, my car gave me no issues.
What’s next on my race agenda?
- Tampa Bay Times Turkey Trot (November 28)
- Florida Holiday Halfathon/10K (December 8)* maybe, haven’t fully decided
- Tallahassee Half Marathon (February 2, 2020)
- Skyway 10K (March 1, 2020)
- Big Sur Marathon (April 26, 2020)
