It was not a smart run. I had a goal pace, but it wasn't based on any standard of a "respectable" time, or a percentage of improvement over any past runs. It was based on the pace I imagined would result from me pushing myself the entire way, beginning to end, without fear of what would happen at the end. I wasn't running for time, I was running away from self-doubt.

I didn't really share this with Dale, who said he would go whatever pace I did so we could stay together, so he was justifiably confused the entire time. He asked if I had a goal pace, and I said yes. He asked if would tell him what it was, and I said no. And for the first time in a race, I wasn't much interested in learning my splits along the way, either.

It wasn't a smart run. I sped up going uphill and slowed down going downhill. My breathing was on the edge from mile one. My pace was faster than I anticipated for the first half, and slower for the second half. But I didn't know, because I wasn't watching. I felt stronger after an hour than I did after the first mile, and it seemed as though my breathing was better then, too - maybe because I'd found a better pace. But that was when I should have pushed harder, because my goal wasn't to find a good pace, it was to find a hard pace, one that would have me struggling the entire time and moving forward anyway. So if I had known I had slowed down, if I had realized it had become easier, and that I'd gotten too comfortable, I would have sped up again. But there again, I wasn't watching the time, and didn't welcome being informed as such. I did speed up again with 2 miles to go, and again at 200 yards.

My IT band had tightened up before the 8 mile mark, and began to hurt shortly after. But when I focused more on my form - kicking out further, straightening up a bit - the muscles eventually released it, though some damage had already been done. (I felt the most acute evidence of that a few hours after the race.) Therein was another point of confusion for Dale: I'd told him about my knee when it tightened up, and the pain, and even backed off the pace slightly... but then still decided to haul butt to the finish. I lost him for a few seconds in that time it took him to realize that I had taken off.

In a smart race, I would have found that solid pace early on and stuck with it, being more likely to feel strong and comfortable the whole way and not pushing it until the end. But I've done too many comfortable races, focusing (and worrying) too early on about what the end might feel like, and finishing with the question hanging over my head, "Could I have done more?"

I dropped out of a marathon because of an injury a few weeks ago. During one of my long training runs, I had to bail at 15 instead of 18 miles because of an asthma attack that even medication wouldn't abate. Yesterday, with "only" 10 miles to cover, I knew I could hang on until the end, no matter what happened or when. I was free to do what I felt like doing at any given instance in between.

I was dumb. I just ran. Could I have shaved off a few minutes with a better strategy? Probably. Does it matter if I'm in the top 29% or the top 28%? Not really. What matters now is that I've done something hard, so that next time it will seem easier, even if I do end up going faster. Sometimes a dumb idea is just a good idea in disguise.

I wouldn't have done anything differently this time, but I will have a different goal for my next ten-miler.

Just some walking and a bunch of muffins. Chatting with the locals I'm used to seeing at the races.


Coming off a marathon DNF 2 weeks earlier due to ITBS, and (intentionally) no race strategy


As the field grows, it gets harder to seed yourself correctly in the corrals, (which each encompass too broad a range of paces), let alone rely on others to seed themselves correctly. Use your best judgement to avoid getting crowded in during the first few miles (I didn't feel crowded once we got started, but a lot of people did).