A Nauseating First Race

I can think of several positives that came out of last night’s all-comers track meet. At the top of the list, my name won’t pop up on any Google searches linked to the race because, thankfully, the guy in charge of such insignificant nuances managed to type my name into the results as Frank Stranz;.

Yep, the race went that well. I clocked a rather unimpressive 55.75 in my return to the quarter-mile. I managed about a 27 second split for my first 200, but my legs decided to ignore my request to speed up over the next 200. My pre-race game plan was to cruise the first turn, gently pick up the pace over the next 100 and then try to negative split (run faster than my previous 200-meters) to the finish line. I was able to manage a rally through the third-hundred, passing the race-leader out of the final turn, but my legs quit on me shortly after. I managed to hang on for the win, but it wasn’t an attractive finish.

After I crossed the line, pride set in. I decided that, because I ran so slowly, I couldn’t appear tired to any of the 200 or so strangers in attendance. Rather than curling up in the fetal position on the side of the track, clutching my throbbing hamstrings and closing my eyes to impede a blossoming headache, I stood tall with hands at my hips. Smart guy that I am, I set up camp at the opposite end of the track, leaving me 100-meters away from my water. That distance might not seem like much, but, after sprinting (loosely defined in this case) a quarter-mile, that 100-meter walk might as well be a hike up Mt. Everest. First, my vision went a little hazy as I tried to slow my breathing, (unsuccessfully) presenting the facade that I was already recovered. Next went the legs, my steps becoming more visibly labored as I neared the midway point. Soon after, a fun feeling found its way into my stomach (aka nausea). Boy, don’t I love running the 400. Remind me again why I gave up this sport?

I had plenty of time to ponder my race and fitness after reaching my final destination as I collapsed on the ground not to be disturbed for many minutes. I warmed up too soon (about 45 minutes too soon), it was cold out (what happened to that wonderful weather we had last week?), my legs really weren’t ready to race (still sore from my 1-mile time trial on Sunday), I was nauseous before the race even began (due to a poor race-day diet) and blah, blah, blah.

One thing I’ve learned in my track career is that every runner has a pocketful of excuses to justify their performance. If they ran well it was because the conditions were great or their legs felt awesome or they finally came out of the blocks properly. After running a poor race, runners turn to the usual suspects – there was a headwind, it’s not my event, my hamstring has been bothering me, my legs just didn’t feel good, I waited too long to get moving. It’s all BS.

Truth is, the clock doesn’t lie. I ran a 55.75 second 400 yesterday. It wasn’t a 54.75 or a 56.75. It doesn’t matter if I consider myself a long jumper, miler or a shot putter. Excuses are there for the insecure. I’m in terrible shape. I haven’t maintained a stretching routine for over a year, I’ve put in a total of three track workouts in the last month and, in turn, I ran a slow time. I know I can run better, but who cares? Fact is, I didn’t run faster. It is what it is.

That said, it’s back to the training routine today. By the end of July, the final all-comers meet on the schedule, that 55.75 is going to drop.