This race report may or may not be related to my last post about not feeling too well. For those of you unlicensed doctors out there who love giving advice, that's the post for you. This one's mostly about barf because barf is funny, as is anything that belongs in the toilet but didn't quite make it.
I signed up for the Rhodes Race 5K in Oakland mostly to support the race director and fellow blogger ClaireB, and the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. However, with my ride the day before getting cut in half, my legs were freed up to run a little faster. What "fast" meant today was anyone's guess. I've probably run fewer 5K's in my life than there are K's in a 5K, and with most of my training lately being on trails, I had no idea what my body was going to decide to do. As I told fellow Girls on the Run people (GOTR is where ClaireB works and Speedy Claire volunteers) at the start, I could either come in really slow, or I could run fast then crap my pants at mile 2 and have to walk it in. Hahaha, I'm so funny, right? Well if you've been reading this blog for awhile, you know that I was kind of serious.
The gun went off. Since there were 3 GOTR staff and volunteers around me and Claire B would also be seeing me suck or not, I made sure that I was out in front of our little cloud for at least the first minute of the race. Then I decided to try to figure out a plan. The plan was: don't look at your watch (which I suppose means "run on feel" but my "feel-o-meter" has never been calibrated, especially over short distances).
After ducking and dodging through the crowd to a pace that felt "comfortably uncomfortable," my watch sang. Thinking it was the one-mile alarm, I looked down astounded: "6:06" it read. Then I realized it was the six-minute time alert and went back to the race plan. Mile 1 felt good, and had I looked at my watch (which I didn't), I would have seen that my split was 7:22. (Exactly my 5K PR pace, but I had no idea at the time since I had to go look it up the next day.)
Then at mile 2 the Phantom Poo started its insistent rotting in my digestive tract. I'd broken Claire's No. 1 Rule of Public Pooping: Don't twice this morning to avoid this problem. I'd gone once at Starbucks (Starbucks, please sponsor my blog) before hitting the freeway, and then again when I got to the race venue. And yet I felt like a slippery, slidy turd slug would slough out of my normally iron-like sphincter if I didn't concentrate. And concentrate I did as the slight downward grade from the first mile turned to a flat road for the second mile and keeping up with the guy in front of me didn't feel so easy anymore. My split for mile 2 (which I didn't see) was 7:31.
The next mile I was searching longingly along the outskirts of the lake we were circling for the dock that was the start/finish. The pond had that festering duck pond smell and it was making me feel nauseous. Or maybe that was the running that was making me feel sick. I was continuing my campaign with the phantom poo, but the phantom poo had allied itself with my muscles to call an end to my race, and I hoped I could hang on for long enough to not have to slow down precipitously. I tried to lay ever so slightly off the gas.
As I approached the 3-mile mark, I had time to formulate the thought into words, The phantom poo wants out, and it's going to get out any way that it can. I just hope I can hold off until the finish. Then I crossed the 3-mile line (7:38), and suddenly, BLAM! The phantom poo said, YOU'RE GONNA PUKE RIGHT NOW!
"BLAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!" I said, vomiting up mostly Starbucks with little flecks of strawberry in it (Starbucks, please sponsor my blog).
"BLAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!" A little less Starbucks this time (Starbucks, please sponsor my blog).
"BLAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!" No product at all in this attempt, just lots of noise. This was not the silent, private kind of puking where the food silently leaps out of your throat. This was violent, yelling, vomiting from the bottoms of my toes kind of puking.
Then a guy came up behind me to pass. "Come on! You can do it! You're almost there!" he said.
I wanted to say, No, I clearly can't do it. I'll get around to it when I'm finished with this. Instead I said "BLAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!" and saw a little more Starbucks (Starbucks, please sponsor my blog).
I threw up a few more times, and just as quickly as it came on, I was fine again. As I turned around I noticed that a woman about my age wearing a pink top had just passed me. I couldn't let her go, and dashed off after her at mid-6 pace. But she got away. "Way to go, Molly," they said at the finish (her name wasn't really Molly). Then the guy who tore off my tag handed it to the other guy and said, "Hers goes after Molly's."
To Molly I wanted to say, "BLAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!" but I was finished puking. All told, I think that 23:38 had passed when I chased Molly into the finishing chute. Claire B later told me that that was good enough for third in my AG, but I'm not about to gloat since about half the people in the race were under 12, over 65, or dogs. Still, I wish I'd stuck around for the awards ceremony.
I was proud of my performance. This was the first time that I had pushed myself to vomiting in a non-hangover-related incident. The pride was slightly diminished by the fact that I felt ill for the rest of the day and into the next, but I have decided to see the sunny side of this cloud and call it a really hard run.
Go me!
8 comments:
I think you had some kind of virus coming on which was why you were so fatigued the day before. Then the stomach bug showed itself and you were sick for a few days, now it's done. No harm, you should be good as new! More importantly...I have pukaphobia, and I've run through in my head many, many times what I would do if I had to yak in a race. So I need to know the following details: 1) did you run to the side of the road? 2) if not, where did you puke? 3) did you get on all fours and blarg into the grass? 3a) if not, did you have your hands on your knees? 3b) if not, what was the most efficient puke stance? 4) did small children point and stare? 5)did anyone offer to help you? 6) did you get any on you? 7)did you want to cry after?
This will help me revise my scenario...thanks!
When I lived in CA and raced for the West Valley Joggers and Striders (based out of Saratoga), we had an elite age-group runner who insisted that if you didn't puke, you could have gone faster. This guy just missed making the 1968 Olympic team at 800m and won an NCAA championship, so I've always taken that advice as gospel.
Good job!
(My verification word is ptopucke, which vaguely looks like the word puke is hidden in there)
Mindy: 1) did you run to the side of the road? yes
2) if not, where did you puke? in the weeds
3) did you get on all fours and blarg into the grass? no
3a) if not, did you have your hands on your knees? maybe, I can't really remember. I was definitely doubled over staring at the ground
3b) if not, what was the most efficient puke stance? I think your body will tell you. Not lying face-up.
4) did small children point and stare? no, there were no small children. How slow do you think I run?!?!?!
5)did anyone offer to help you? no, just that one asshat that told me "you can do it!"
6) did you get any on you? no. it was forceful vomiting and there wasn't much of it. It was mostly violent retching
7)did you want to cry after? no, I was fine. I smiled and told everyone that I'd puked at the finish
Damon: That can't possibly be good for you!
Speedy - excellent info, thanks. I don't think you are slow, I was more thinking about onlookers from the sidelines. You handled it much better than I would have. There definitely would have been crying and a mini-breakdown on my part. You're my puke hero!
If I was worried about what was good for me, I probably wouldn't have raced 100s of times in my life. I was more interested in seeing what I could do, rather than just optimizing some medical health marker.
Once in Redwood City, I outkicked 5 people in my running club in a 5K, including the aforementioned elite runner. In the finish chute, I puked on the shoe of a kid who was volunteering. I didn't mean to, but it was coming out and the kid's shoe was in the way. My friend came up to me after the race and said he was glad he was able to push me hard enough that I was willing to puke to beat the pack. Then he laughed and said I'd probably scarred the volunteer for life.
Same puke thing happened to me at my last 5k. Fortunately for me though it didn't come on until around 2.5 miles so I was able to hold it until I crossed the finish line but the second I stopped moving, up it came. But then 10 minutes later I was fine. Weird.
PS You could probably drop 10 seconds off your time if you lost the hand-held bottle. ;)
I've yaked three times during and after a race:
1. Chichetti 5 miler in waterbury 2001: I was pushing a hard pace and ended up yaking lemon lime powerade 100 meters from the finish. I often joke that because it was green I could have been Linda Blair's extra in the Exorcist.
2. 2002 Chichetti 5 miler: Nothing came out but I was dry heaving something firece after sprinting the last mile.
3. 2004 Spring 5k at Fordham. Eating leftover Easter Candy before running a road race and desperately trying to out sprint the captain of the women's track team is never a good idea.
I have to agrre with Damon, if you aren't puking you could have gone harder, but if you are puking have you gone too far.
Eww, I'm guessing that the strawberries were not in the Starbuck's drink.
Thankfully I have never had to puke in an event. I guess that means I was not going hard enough.
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