Garden of the Gods 10-mile 2009

There's a scene in the movie "Run Fatboy Run" where Dennis (Simon Pegg) is at work a day after completing his first ever training run. He's apparently in some serious agony and is constantly scratching himself for relief. He confesses to his boss that "I went for a bit of a run this morning, and I think I've got a bit of a rash...y'know, down in the...Scrotal Zone." It's a funny line, and I bring it up for two reasons, one of which is that I watched that movie last night with my sister, since I was staying at her place prior to this race (the other I'll get to later on).

"What time do you think you'll finish the race?" she asked me this morning as we drove down to Manitou Springs. Now, last year, I finished the race in one hour and 47 minutes. Going into this morning, I knew two things. One was that I am much stronger and faster than I was at this time last year. My consecutive PRs from March, April, and May speak to that. The other was that this is a really challenging course. It starts at just under 6300 feet and climbs and dips and climbs (mostly climbs) to a high point of just over 6500 feet before coming back down (and up and down again and again). So although I was confident that I would improve, I wasn't confident in how much. Consequently I told my sister that I'd probably shave two or three minutes off my time.

I held back at the start of the race, knowing that didn't want to push too hard and use up too much too quickly. Last year I'd run the first mile in just under 12 minutes. I figured for this year, just under 11 would be appropriate. But I was feeling very strong, there was a slight breeze helping keep things cool, and the first mile is almost all downhill. With all of that, I ran the first mile in 9:44. Then I had to face the first steep uphill climb of many as the course entered Garden of the Gods park.

Last year I ran about 90% of each uphill and walked the rest, running again on the downhill. This year I didn't want to do that, but I knew I would have to slow down a bit to avoid burning out and having no alternative. When I drew close to the top of that first uphill and saw that I was running 10:57 pace, I promised myself I'd keep that as my slowest pace. I could pick up the speed on the downhills to make up any difference easily enough.

I tried not to focus on my speed too much. Since I had forgotten the length of most of the hills, I told myself I could hold the sub-11 pace easily enough, and thus let myself go faster on the downhills. Instead I focused on the scenery (a little) and the other runners around me (mostly). Before I knew it we were being herded over to the right side of the road, which could only mean that the first finishers were on their way back. At mile 3.34 by my Garmin, they came tearing down: five or six very fast, very skinny, very focused men in a tight pack. We broke into cheers and applause for them, as well as the next three that came by, and the next group after that which included the first female finisher. As impressed as I was with the speed, focus, and determination evidenced by each of those runners, I was also impressed with the realization that I was a third of a mile further along than I'd been when I saw the first finishers coming back last year.

I continued to climb up towards the highest point on the course, at about mile 4.5. I'd been consistently managing a sub-10 pace for each mile, staying just below 11 minute pace for the uphills and opening it up on the downs (more than once I found myself at or below 7:30). It was about this point that I realized I was going to finish well ahead of when I'd told my sister I would. I wondered how early she would get to the finish area.....

I was still feeling very strong, and was even able to crack some jokes and strike up a few conversations with some other runners as we wound our way along the concrete path before rejoining the road. As I finished mile 6, however, I became very aware of two issues I'd been trying to ignore: a stitch in my right side that I could not get rid of, and discomfort in my own...er...Scrotal Zone (see? I told you). But I grit my teeth and pushed on, trying with limited success to push them out of my mind. I made it through the out-and-back at 7.5 miles feeling pretty good (in spite of the aforementioned issues), and made some very good time on the next downhill to just before the 8-mile sign.

Climbing up to that sign proved difficult, however. I kept myself on pace, at or below (sometimes a good piece below) an 11-minute mile. But by the time I crested that hill, I was really starting to feel tired. I'd used up almost all of my juice pushing as hard as I had, and for a brief moment panicked that I'd pushed too hard, that I'd have to slow to a walk before I finished. I made a silent vow to myself that I wouldn't let that happen as I crested the hill just after the 8-mile mark. I shortened my steps, let gravity take over, and coasted down that hill before climbing back up the last steep hill en route to the 9-mile mark.

Again, although I managed to stay on pace, I was definitely feeling it as I reached the top of that hill, about a mile and a quarter out from the finish. I noticed, however, that I was pulling abreast of runners who were also starting to run out of steam. That gave me a fresh burst of energy, and I pushed to the top of that last steep hill and started down again. Seeing the 9-mile mark gave me a little more, although I held back from increasing my pace just yet. After all, although it wasn't as steep, the whole of that last mile was mostly uphill!

Seeing the crowd of spectators building along the side of the road gave me that last push, and I picked up my pace for the last half mile. As I came around the last curve, I could see the finisher clock in front of me turn over 1:33:00. I knew I could make it in under 1:34:00. My eyes were focused on the clock, and everything else disappeared: the stitch in my side which I'd been trying to ignore for the last half hour, the groans of protest from my Scrotal Zone, even the presence of the spectators. I didn't even spare a thought for whether my sister was there or not. All I saw was the finish line and the clock. 1:33:45...46...47...48...as it turned over 49 seconds I crossed the line, throwing my hands into the air in triumph.

It wasn't a 10-mile PR (although it was closer than I'd at first thought: I missed my PR by 97 seconds!). But I improved my time by almost 15 minutes over last year's race. So I'll definitely take it, Scrotal Zone discomfort and all.

Official Time: 1:33:49
Total Races: 12
YTD Race Miles: 99.5
YTD Total Miles: 557.45
Number of times you can say "Scrotal Zone" before it stops being funny: 6 (phew! Just made it!)