Hmmm. Did I choose the wrong race for my first half-marathon?
Runners on runnersworld.com and on the 13.1 group on Facebook who say they have been training on the Blue Hills course for the 13.1 Boston this weekend allude to the hilliness of the course. Hills kill me, whether biking or running.
Most part of the trail I have been training on is flat. Distance wise, I feel okay; I have run 12+ a couple of times last week and, going by those runs, the 13 this Sunday should not present a problem. What raises doubts are those drops and climbs on the elevation map.
Update: I completed the race in 2:19, a timing nothing to boast about. I was surprised at how strong I felt at the end, which means that there are quite a few minutes in that timing begging to be shaved in the next race. Am and Smee too had fun. They came over the previous evening. Earlier in the day I collected our race packets from Boston and even managed to eke out a bike ride along the race route. "The reported hills are for real," I later reported to Am and Smee that evening as we sorted through our race bibs, shirts, and timing-chips. Ah well, so be it, we collectively groaned and, wondering if the anticipation of the morn would allow us any sleep, we drifted off to sleep that was partly attributed to the bedtime stories I was telling my nephew in his adjoining room. "We overheard the stories," they confessed.
The race was poorly organized: the aid stations not only ran out of Gatorade but also ran out of cups for water; volunteers served water directly from the gallon containers and runners cupped their palms to drink; the live bands at the promised locations along the route, where were they? The organizers received lot of flak for this race and rightly so. What saved their hide was the beautiful weather and the charming route. It wasn't a good race for those seeking to better their PR. However, it was the first race for the three of us; we were there to have fun and we sure had loads of it.
Update: I completed the race in 2:19, a timing nothing to boast about. I was surprised at how strong I felt at the end, which means that there are quite a few minutes in that timing begging to be shaved in the next race. Am and Smee too had fun. They came over the previous evening. Earlier in the day I collected our race packets from Boston and even managed to eke out a bike ride along the race route. "The reported hills are for real," I later reported to Am and Smee that evening as we sorted through our race bibs, shirts, and timing-chips. Ah well, so be it, we collectively groaned and, wondering if the anticipation of the morn would allow us any sleep, we drifted off to sleep that was partly attributed to the bedtime stories I was telling my nephew in his adjoining room. "We overheard the stories," they confessed.
The race was poorly organized: the aid stations not only ran out of Gatorade but also ran out of cups for water; volunteers served water directly from the gallon containers and runners cupped their palms to drink; the live bands at the promised locations along the route, where were they? The organizers received lot of flak for this race and rightly so. What saved their hide was the beautiful weather and the charming route. It wasn't a good race for those seeking to better their PR. However, it was the first race for the three of us; we were there to have fun and we sure had loads of it.
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