It was a 10K.
In New Haven, Indiana.
There were 272 participants. Some of them were my friends.
Some of those friends had run 9 miles before the race (because they are marathon training) and were going to take it slow.
I lined up with them.
My first mile was 9:42.
So much for the first idea.
So I did that.
And I kept cruising. Gunning for my negative splits. 9:37. 9:20.
Oops. I wasn't supposed to run a 9:20 this race, especially not for mile 3. The race is going to get tough from here on out, I thought to myself.
I was right. It did.
I walked through a water stop and it was hard to resume running. But I saw people, like my friends who had ran 9 miles before, and I thought I'd catch up to, well, catch up.
So I did. It was nice. And then I wasn't so nice anymore, passing them to try to pick it up. Because I didn't want to completely punk out just because my negative split race was out.
Somewhere around mile 5, I realized that if I could hold my shit together that I might be able to go sub-60. It would be close but possible.
Time to pick it up.
But at least my sock(s) look good.
Also, I did manage to eke out a good mile – 9:28 for 6 and an 8:52 average for the homestretch.
I could let you do the math – time to brush up for back to school – to see whether I got my sub-hour 10K.
Yep, I think math is overrated, too. I finished in 59:40, which was good enough for me ... but not for awards or placing. Them peoples be fast. Seriously, I was 197 out of 272.
But I finished in less than an hour and got to go home and take a bath in an empty house. #winning