We got into the very crowded corral at the 10 minute mile pace, and our little group headed out together with a loose strategy of sticking together for the first several miles, then finding our individual paces after that. I was planning on running 9:45 or slower for the first 2 miles, then try to bring that up to 9:10 by the 5 mile marker (9:10 being average pace necessary for a 2-hr half-mary), then keep that or speed it up through the 2nd five mile section, and step on the gas for the last 5k.

The garbage bag was perfect for the first two miles, and I ripped it off and was plenty warm from that point on. All in all, I was very happy with my choice of run clothing and strategy.

As I started to run the second five mile stretch, I kicked it up to just under a 9 minute mile, attempting to average out my slower first five miles and hit an average of 9:10/mile by the time I hit 10 miles in (which I think should have been 1:32 hours in if I was going to hit my two hour target). This section felt reallt, really, really good. Like Superman good. I was picking it up a bit from my previous pace, and still walking through all the water stations. I loved it. Oddly enough, after running this pace up to around the 8.5 mile spot, I saw just in front of me one of the other runners from my group, who had told me that he was going to run a slow pace. I caught up with him and asked how he was doing -- he told me that he was sticking to his plan and had been running the last several miles at a ten minute mile pace! I told him that since I had last seen him at the five mile marker, that I'd been running a sub 9 and he was in front of me! He was shocked and chagrined, and although I passed him up, I later heard that he blew up and ran out of gas at mile ten. Plans, enemy.

Of course, my plan didn't come off perfectly. I did really well through mile 10, then was planning on picking it up through the last 5K and sprinting at the end. That didn't entirely come off. I was able to speed it up to an eight minute mile for the last four, but by the time I could see the finish line, I had no sprint left in me at all. Nothing. Nada. I reached for it, I had planned for it, there was nothing in the fuel tank.

But I guess that's okay. Sub-2hrs, had fun, no injuries, no hurling.



Not get injured in training? Train with some gels so I can hit one at Mile 10 and have something for a sprint? Other than that, nothing; I made great choices today.

After the finish line, I ate everything they gave me. There was a Panera Bread Asiago Cheese Bagel that was apparently made of cocaine, because it tasted better than anything I had ever eaten in my life.

Lots of stretching.


Injury in training. Lack of being Kenyan.


An excellent race for beginners, as John Bingham events are supposed to be -- very flat, very well organized, lots of volunteers. Comparatively expensive for a race, but you get a cool medal.