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Brooksie Way Half Marathon Race Report

Race Morning First Thing

The Morning

It all started like they always do, with an alarm in the darkness. I’ve never been a morning person, but I never have a hard time waking up on race days. Two beers the night before and my excitement for the race always gives me the right mix of anticipation and calm for a good night of sleep and a timely rise.

The alarm chimed at 5:00 and I prepared my breakfast. Black coffee, peanut butter on a whole wheat English muffin. While I slowly ate that, Steph worked her way out of bed and took a shower. I toted a banana with me for the ride, and Stephanie and I set out for Rochester Hills, about an hour away, at 5:45.

It was still dark as we got near the race start, Meadowbrook Music Festival on the Oakland University campus, a place I was more used to seeing for concerts. The last time I was there was for a Tori Amos & Ben Folds concert in 2003. Through the pre-dawn dimness, Steph spotted a pair of searchlights lancing upward and tumbling over each other in the sky. We followed that beacon to the parking for the race, guided in by flashlights and pointing parking attendants.

We arrived just before the wave of timely folks, for which I am grateful. As we walked up the road, a river of headlights lined the dark road winding off the campus and south toward the largest highway running through Rochester Hills, I75, which if you follow south far enough dumps you out on the Florida Keys.

We, led and trailed by a trickle of people already parked, headed toward the searchlights. There was hardly anyone around as we checked in for the race, and I selected a new windbreaker branded with the race name. As seems to happen when you pick up your packet on race day, they had run out of XL shirts, so mine would be in the mail.

All the registration complete, I warmed up on a gravel trail alongside the start, stretching, and trying to strike a balance between moving to keep warm and warm up, and avoiding off burning off that magical energy you get at the start line.

The Real Secret of Races

The Start

Steph kept me company, and shot those dawn-lit photos for a an hour or so, before the 8am start time rolled around. A delay, first 5 minutes, then 15 minutes, was announced. In the start corral, the warmth of the day made it clear that Steph had been right, that while the start would be cold, I would not need anything more than a long sleeve shirt once I got started. Overcoming that feeling was like getting out from under the blankets on a work morning, so I was grateful that the Race Director was hitting the snooze button for me.

The start corral was small, the Brooksie was about 5000 participants, about half running the half-marathon. I was over the start line 2 minutes after ‘on your marks’. I intentionally started forward this time, after spending tons of time (and distance) running around folks in crowded starts. Still, even with my modest guess at a start time, I didn’t have any idea how fast I would end up running this race.

Dawn had broken, but after the first steps off the Oakland University Campus, the course ran into the rising sun. I heard people around me agitating each other over choices to wear or not wear sunglasses. My Tifosi Slip Fototecs (the glasses I bought a few weeks ago in REI) suited the situation well, darkening in the sunlight, I didn’t pay attention to them, which is exactly how they should feel. The first mile came and went before we turned southward and out of the sun. I glanced at my watch, looking for a number in the mid-10’s for the first mile pace. Instead, I saw a 9:40, haunting me.

“Too fast”, I thought. “You *must* slow down. No matter how good you feel now, you will feel awful after 13 miles of this, and you have a big hill to climb.”

So I slowed down.

The Race

Except I didn’t. The next mile marker popped in at 9:27. I rationalized, and tried to keep the pedal off the gas. I was going down hill. The second half wasn’t going to be negative splits, and I could have a fast race if I ran it like a flat race now, and like a hilly race later. I am a big believer in negative splits, but unless I was a mountain goat, that wasn’t going to happen. A 2:18 would be easy if I ran a 60 minute first half.

After that, I didn’t think. I just ran at the pace I felt I could sustain. If that doesn’t sound like much of a secret, it didn’t feel like one. There were rest stops every mile, which was a great change from planning out in advance and agonizing over where the next would be. While they weren’t lined up right with the mile markers (the excellently marked and emphasized markers, by the way), they were available within a reasonable distance.

As I was coming up on mile three, a woman I passed spotted my Pittsburgh Half Marathon shirt and called out that she had run the race for years. We exchanged the quick conversation you are capable of during a race, three sentences, at most, but it ended with her saying she had to drop back, that we were faster than her pace. That was a boost, whether she meant it to be or not.

I carried 3 gus with me, and shortly after that conversation, as I ate the first one, I balled up the throwaway gloves and tossed them, into the cup pile after the 3 mile mark. I tried to thank the volunteers at that marker (as well as all the rest of them). While you’ve got to love the guilt free littering of dropping a cup during a race, dropping the gloves felt much weirder, even though I saw a breadcrumb trail of tops, hats and gloves.

The race had a variety of segments after mile 4, moving onto a bike/hike trail through the parks of Rochester Hills. That’s where I first started ‘picking targets’. First was a girl in a pink outfit, who was weaving to pass folks on the trail, next I locked on to a woman in a purple top, her ponytail swaying side to side, then it was a guy in an orange top with an Aquafina water bottle tucked into a pouch on his back. The recognizable colors are the best, because I don’t have to watch them all the time to see them. I kept with the passer, and passed her. I kept with the ponytail, and passed her. I kept with the water guy, and passed him.

One great thing about running without music is that feeling you get when there’s suddenly music on the race course. I didn’t know if Brooksie would have bands along the course, so I got the feeling several times that day. A band playing guitar rock got a huge thumbs up from me, a guy playing drums and singing got a wave (which oddly, the drummer didn’t return!) and a guy singing about being Detroit Steel, and built like a truck inspired me in a completely corny way.

But the most memorable moment was during that last 5k. At Mile 11 there was a woman playing a trumpet. Her entire repertoire seemed to be to repeatedly bleat the recognizable taratantara chaaaaarge. It was effective, it made me laugh and leap at the sound in exultation. 2 miles to go.

The crowd support at this race was amazing, for a modest sized race. Tons of people out cheering or ringing cowbells. People with signs meant for the whole race, not just for a single racer. The volunteers as we got closer to the finish were more and more excited to see you, including the memorable girl at the mile 12 water stop reading names off of bibs. The unofficial refreshment stop at mile 9 was the first time I’ve had a half cup of mid race beer, which I didn’t drink much of, but it made me feel that inspiration and pampering unique to races.

After all these disjoint and amazing experiences, this kaleidoscope of a race report, I came into focus near the end. Coming down Adams road, I didn’t look at my pace. I knew it couldn’t be changed then. The turn onto Walton felt familiar, even though I only saw it once, 2 hours ago. Cheering volunteers increased in intensity, and the road started to roll downhill. The final musical boost was BOOM BOOM POW blaring over the PAs. I surged past that tent, screaming thanks to the volunteers.

That 2 hours that had elapsed had apparently allowed me to forget that the first tenth of a mile had been down a huge hill.

The Finish Line

I couldn’t see the clock, but I could hear the crowd, and I soon saw Stephanie. Gratifyingly, I heard her shout out, “Look at the clock!” as I crested that cruel final hill, and hauled through the finish to the sound of an announcer reading out my name and town. The red digits read out something below 2:05:00. So no matter what I had done, I had beaten my goal for the NEXT race of running 10 minute miles.

I wandered, in a daze. I hunched over and crushed my thighs in my hand. I wasn’t out of breath, which may sound weird to someone who hasn’t run a distance race, but you can’t really run out of breath like you can if you’re sprinting some shorter distance. The end leaves you exhausted, momentarily, but it’s my legs that limit that final kick, and not my lungs. So I gripped my thighs and exhaled sighs of gratitude and excitement. I felt my legs starting to tighten up, so I kept moving, kept walking in a circle, chattering happily at Steph, saying the same thing I would say all the rest of the day. I couldn’t believe it. I honestly could not believe what I had just done, running the race so fast.

I finally looked down at my Garmin, which read 2:02:14 total. Numbers swam in my head. I couldn’t do the math, I couldn’t decide what my time would be. I banished the clock and the Garmin from my head and went to find Stephanie, to see her smile and cheer for me. She incredulously repeated her question, whether I had seen the clock. The hands of a clock spun out of control inside me, fantasizing about what the time could be, would be. The clock at 2:04:xx? The Garmin, with it’s teasing 2:02:14? The finish line results said 2:02:35. I had a PR over Pittsburgh of more than 15 minutes! Then, if you read my brief check in, that afternoon, my time was updated to [b]2:02:04[/b]. It was real.

None of those times would have limited my pride in that race, bursting out of me at the seams. Still it’s pretty great that the fastest one is the final, and that it’s a PR over my prior half marathon time by 16 minutes.


I retrieved my medal and a bagel, though I forewent the energy drinks, because they were NERGIZE. Or maybe INERGIES or ENERGEEEZ; someone mistook bad spelling for good marketing. Seeing that made me glad I hadn’t had what was labelled as gatorade at the water stops! Instead, I had two cups of apple cider, and a disappointing pint of lowfat chocolate milk. There also may have been some leaf shaped cookies. It was kind of a blur!

Afterward, there was a brief celebration and photo session.

The Medal

Hermes doesn't look tired, because he got to sit in the car. Also, because he is just a stuffed penguin.

And then the real reward. Steph and I sniffed the air (well, we may have seen roadside signs) until we found a Red Robin, where I whined and made begging eyes at the waitress until the stroke of noon. (She may not have heard the begging over the scarfing noises as I ate a burger like a lion on the savannah) Then, patience was rewarded.

Sporty-dressed folks behind me in the image were also counting the seconds until noon.

The Numbers Part

For those who are interested in those kind of things, here are the splits, and you can click on the image to see the whole gps summary for the event, including HR, pace and elevation data for the run. You can relive that big hill between 7 and 11 with me!

Splits from the Brooksie way


Forgive the 0.99/1.01 miles; I was hitting the Garmin at the aforementioned well done race markers. I wanted to know how much slop I was generating, and to have actual mile splits to compare Garmin distance vs. course distance. I was gratified that so many of them were right around 1.0.

Looking at the total mileage, I’m amazed at how close I was to 13.1. Even if I got favorable Garmin errors, I must have run a really tight race as far as tangents go. I thought about it, but didn’t obsess, and that really seemed to work. Same thing applied to pace, and nutrition/water.

Without going over the splits line by line, you can see that there was really only one slow mile in the whole thing, mile 8. But according to the elevation chart, that was a 130ft gain, with 0 feet lost, meaning it was a purely uphill mile, and the first of the three jagged hills that made up that hard second half.

Brooksie Way Elevation Chart


So, to recap this recap.


  • 2:02:04, a new PR, and the confidence to go sub 2 in November at Stomp The Grapes next month.
  • Blue laws should be repealed, or at least given a moratorium on race mornings. Waiting for beer until noon is cruel after stepping off the course ready for a cold one at 10:15
  • Being early for a race is almost always better than being late. I’d rather be cold than panicked. And those start delays? They were so the Sheriffs could the line of cars trying to park for the race.
  • Perfect weather and the support of a perfect wife can make even a challenging course into a PR.




Let Freedom Run 5k Race Report

I haven’t mentioned the Let Freedom Run 5k on the blog, or put it in the upcoming races, not because I wasn’t excited about it but because I didn’t know just what I was going to be doing with it. Would I run a hot race, looking for a nice solid PR, or would I meander the hills of Fairfax, Virginia with my friends, chatting about birthday fun? Would the large crowd that a holiday race draws cramp my start? Or would those aforementioned hills cramp my quads?

So I didn’t know what I’d get, but here is what I got:

  • A kickass morning with my friends Emily and Fred.
  • Cheering squad x2, Steph + Styger!
  • A 29:37 PR, meeting my 30min goal, setting a new, respectable, PR by a landslide.

Steph and I arrived about 45 min before race start, and parked out in the corner of the lot. Runners were all around, and as you often see on holiday races so were a ton of supportive onlookers. Sadly, they were out of tee-shirts, so I had to walk away from the sign-in table with just assurances that it would be mailed. An explosion of patriotic costumes punctuated the crowd of stock-standard race folks wandering about.

My friends Emily and Fred were running the race, and Emily’s friend Janna. My friend Stiger and of course the ever-present supportive wife would be cheering from the sidelines. Thankfully, as a 5k, they wouldn’t be waiting long. Fred, Emily, Janna and I chatted in the starting chute. Janna and Emily are training together for the Marine Corp Marathon in September, so this little run was just a hop, skip and jump for them. I know they’ll both do great!

For Fred, this was the first road run in a while, so he was mostly there to stretch his legs and keep us all company, which was much appreciated and great fun. I hope he had half the fun I did, cheering him as he came across the finish!

At the starting horn, the crowd lurched across the starting line mile 1 was the typical gristmill of people who all start out in a big crowd, and the ‘exit’ from the shopping center had two turns off the bat. I hadn’t discussed whether I’d be running alongside any of my friends, and I took off running pretty early. I hope my burst of enthusiasm wasn’t misinterpreted or hurtful. I decided as I started that I could, and wanted to, get an official 30min 5k on the books!

We came around the corner and out of the shopping center, and broke into a long, downhill, straightaway. By the end of that straightaway, I had settled into my pace, passed just about all the people I was going to pass. I started to slow down, not dramatically, but noticeably, as we kept winding up hill after hill. The run was a big rectangle around the shopping center, but it felt like a mobius strip! All up, and no down. The course was, in it’s way, refreshingly challenging, but one bit I didn’t enjoy is that several of the roads weren’t actually closed; just one lane in the direction of traffic was closed, so occasionally a car would zip by from behind. A disconcerting feeling! Plus at a couple of points the intersections were open, so a car would be perched, not directed by a traffic officer, waiting to cross the road. I finished up and didn’t even look at my watch because I wanted to start by seeing my chip time.

Coming in to the finish. Eyes either on the prize, or rolled back in my head. Thanks, sunglasses!

I stayed by the finish in the crowd that had gathered there to cheer on the finishing runners, including my friends. It was a great feeling to cheer for random people and see them surge to hit the finish line.

Then, it was off to the well deserved post run noshing! As usual, the race had bagels, bananas, and water arrayed around a table, but it was suffering from poor organization. Or rather, too much voluntary organization, as mild mannered runners naturally lined up, and none of the old folks manning the food booth would venture out to tell those waiting that it was not set up for a line and people should just mob the table. When I walked around the far side of the table and saw two boxes of bananas and bagels untouched, I grabbed one of each, and then started shouting to the runners in line. Either they didn’t believe me or they didn’t want to be the guy jumping out of line, so even as I left, there was a massive line snaking away from the table.

So, for low points, worrisome traffic control, not enough shirts (c’mon, that’s like race organizing 101, isn’t it?) and a bit of a failure to communicate at the food table.  The highpoints were a good challenging rolling hilled course (as advertised) a fun run with friends, a 30 minute PR and a beautiful (overcast, not blistering hot) day for a run.

Big thanks to my friends for running with me.

Fred is grinning inexplicably, I am pouting inexplicably and Emily is counting the number of dorks appearing in this picture.


Solstice Run Race Report

First of all, I know you’re all going to scroll down to the bottom to get to the juicy part (since that’s what I do on *your* race reports) so here it is, right up front.

The weather was perfect. I ran a 1:00:35 10k, a PR by over 15 minutes. That means I achieved goal 1, goal 2, and came 35s away from achieving goal 3.

I picked up my number on Friday night. Pretty unremarkable experience for that, so I’ll spare you. The point of mentioning it is that I *always* pick my number up beforehand if I can. I like to know that all I have to do the morning of is cross the start line. Because I don’t ever want to screw that up. Half the reason I do races is so that I can have a totally official record of my exact time, backed up with some serious SCIENCE. Sure, I run to have fun, I run to organize my running goals around something, and the environment of the race is just something totally apart from just ‘running as fast as I can’. Still, one very important aspect for me is having a big list, where I appear somewhere on it, that says my name, and a time that proves that I, according to an objective observer, completed a measured distance over a measured time.

However, it appears the universe wanted to teach me a lesson. I ran the best I could. I started out slow, I ran progressively faster miles, and I hurtled to the finish with a kick to be proud of. I nailed my first goal to beat 1:05:06, my Pittsburgh Half Marathon 10k split. I nailed my second goal to beat a 10:00 mile, with a 9:45 pace. I brushed my fingers achingly close to my stretch goal, to turn out a 1:00:00 or better 10k.

I did all that, but none of it gets to be as clear and as clean as I imagine in my strictly metered, precision engineered idealization. You’ll hear more of why, in the blow-by-blow description below.

I started my day with the every-day-and-race-day-is-no-exception breakfast. A english muffin with peanut butter and a cup of coffee. I drove to the race, arrived with plenty of time, and had the good fortune to park in a parking lot that was under construction. I was lucky because that meant there was a port-a-potty at the parking lot that I used before joining the snaking river of people heading toward the start line from all directions. I didn’t know how lucky I was until I was closer and saw that the whole river of people seemed to have lined up for the 4 port-a-potties near the start.

The start was on the Northville Downs Racetrack, a horse racing track made of crushed gravel that reminded me of the wooded trails in Pittsburgh’s city parks. I warmed up a bit with striders I’m sure I did wrong, stretched a bit against a wall. It was odd to be alone before a race for so long; normally I spend the time with Stephanie, but from the map we knew she wouldn’t be able to catch me at multiple places on the course, so she slept half an hour longer and would meet me at the finish line. The waiting didn’t go on long at all. The clock crawled closer to 7:15 and an announcer, lost somewhere in the milling crowd of runners, got our attention with a microphone for the 10k start. While I knew the drill, I was happy that he had called out that it was the 10k start very specifically, as I am sure that other runners might be confused, and I wouldn’t want to be the 10miler runner who found out at mile 4 that he had taken the wrong start. The invisible announcer jabbered about the stops on the course, thanked the sponsors, apologized that the Start Line arch was not up on account of the wind.  Then he gave a variation on ‘ready-get-set-go’ (of which there seem to be an infinite number) and blew an airhorn.

I ambled behind the crowd to the start, content to cross the line late and let chip time give me my time, and content to let the crowd ahead of me start to break up. Plus, it’s always motivating to be passing people during the race, and I’ve grown used to being slow enough to justify starting way near the back. Races normally seem to prefer to start with a long straightaway, to let the crowds thin out as the fast and enthusiastic spread out in front, and the natural pace takes over, without the jam of a corner. Starting on the horse track, as novel as it was, didn’t afford this opportunity. Everyone knew where the shortest path was, and the natural slowing of a turning crowd jammed up the start more than I’d expect from a race with ~900 runners. Once we exited the track, we followed a reasonably rational course out of the parking lot and out onto the roads.

There, I came up against my first assumption, which was that a road race in Michigan was by necessity a flat affair. Not true here in Northville, apparently. It wasn’t a huge hill, but it was definitely a hill, and the crowds thinned out and moved to the side to run it slow. I heard a woman say to her running mates that she was going to walk this one. I remembered advice I’d gotten from Lauren, to always run the hills, and I tucked my head down and ran it, passing people as I went. As we came near the crest of the hill, the 1 mile marker loomed, and around me a chorus of cheeping Garmin’s noted, at different spots, their own interpretation of the location of the first mile marker. That first mile was the slowest of the race, as it should be.

Mile 2 was inspiring. A few people appeared at the ends of their driveway, most memorably a family who all held hands outstretched for a high five, if you ran close enough. We ran along Sheldon Road, and turned into a subdivision, and as we did, at around 1.75 miles, I heard someone shouting my name, cheering for me. Confusion only lasted momentarily as I recognized my co-worker Lauren’s voice. I had invited she and her husband to run the race with me, but they have a 2 year old son, and couldn’t make the logistics work. Instead they had plotted to come cheer me on along the race course! Since I wasn’t expecting any personal cheering until the finish line, I was really inspired by it! I saw Lauren again a couple corners up, as well as her husband and son along the lines cheering for “Mister Sullivan Running!” and it was a huge boost. Big thanks to my friends for coming out and cheering for me on a race day! On Monday, Lauren pointed out the first unusual thing about this race; the second corner she met me at was NOT part of the race course. Either the course was mislabelled, or a mass of runners ignored some critical marking, but we ran like this:

The Way We Ran

And the official course mark looks like this:

The Right Way

A quick gmap pedometer check shows that this is only shorter by 0.01 miles or so; so 50 feet. 

Mile 3 was rolling subdivision time. The major event of note was running alongside a Mustang GT that was being escorted out of the neighborhood by a bike cop at like 4-5mph. I resisted the urge to be one of I presume 200 people yelling “I’m racing a Mustang!” at the driver. I’m glad the cops had it under control, but I would rather not have had to contend with a moving car on the route! After passing the Mustang, I grabbed a cup of water at the water station, and drank it slowly. Unlike a bigger road race, this water station was in a subdivision, so dropping the cup on the floor felt MUCH more like littering than usual, but I didn’t have a choice, because I was nowhere near done nursing it after passing the garbage cans 20 feet away from the tables.

Mile 4 wound its way through an older neighborhood, less of a uniform subdivision and more of a collection of houses. The major feature was a big loop through that area that pinched off at itself just after the 4 mile mark. Somewhere here, I spotted my new race Friend/Nemesis (Frenemesis? Maybe I should leave the portmanteau words to the Hiltons and Kardashians of the world), henceforth referred to as the Green Shirt Girl. She was wearing a distinct color of green, had a somewhat odd arm flail (tightly tucked wrists but her elbows were EVERYWHERE) and running at about the same pace as I. Always pretty much in sight up ahead, I saw her for long enough that I started to ‘lock on’ to her as my pace. Unlike the seriously dressed black guy I had seen earlier, and the singlet wearing skinny guy. Those two had the look, but were either running easy or run walking, such that I passed them and never saw them again. Green Shirt Girl on the other hand was there long enough to not only be seen and noted, but to gain her nickname in my tired brain. 

The fluid station at 4.25 was Gu Brew only, and I risked an upset stomach by having a couple sips to wash the Gu I took at mile 4 down. I lucked out in that I didn’t have any adverse reaction, and I know that risking it was silly. It worked out, and I headed through mile 5, which was another generally uphill mile. I chased Green Shirt Girl up this long hill, and she and I passed a ton of folks who slowed down for it. When I started to slow, I realize she was also starting to slow, and picked it up. And of course, all without seeing me, she picked it up too, came around the corner and created more space between us. 

When mile 5 finally finished up, and mile 6 came to the fore, I caught up, even passing her briefly, and exchanging the awkward “I’m sorry”/”no don’t worry about it you’re okay” conversation as she stumbled almost into me during the pass. But she took it back before long. Mile 6 was all downhill though, through downtown Northville, through a busy intersection with officers directing traffic (Thank you officers!) and down into Ford Field. A girl in a sports bra interposed herself between me and my target. The hard corner into Ford Field, where the mile 6 sign was perched, slowed all three of us down. I remember seeing that 6 Mile sign and the hard corner and thinking, “No way I’m looking at my watch. I am close to all of my goals, and I’m just going to run this park as fast as I can.” As we came into the park, you could see that we’d be running around the gathered crowd at the finish. Knowing that only 0.2 miles remained, I tried to find something to let me catch her, and at least cross the finish line right on her heels. The girl in the sports bra fell behind after the corner, and as I started running (thinking of it as my first interval, thinking of it as my finish line kick, thinking of it as my race picture pose) I found myself passing Green Shirt Girl quickly. People to the left and right of the path were taking their race medals off and admiring them, cheering. The race announcer must have had a program or some helpers, but he was announcing actual names as people came across the finish! I turned onto the straightaway, where Steph spotted me and start cheering, before her head disappeared behind her SLR for her to snap pictures. I felt my shoelace, traitorous thing, start to come untied! But I burst through the finish line, over the chip timing mat and it was over!

Note the confident stride, the strong arms, the untied shoelace. Truly a runner in peak form.

I got my medal, my lei and a big hug from my wife. Only then did I glance at my Garmin, which proclaimed 1:00… meaning I was SO CLOSE to my goal. I poked through the menu to get the seconds… 1:00:35! Chip time would tell! Or so I thought…

At the results board, my chiptime and clocktime were recorded as the same number: 1:01:27. I held out hope briefly that they had posted in haste (clearly to make sure that the highly competitive bottom fifth of the 30-34 Men’s bracket had by the minute updates, right?) but it soon became clear it wasn’t getting corrected.  Stephanie and I hung around a while longer to watch the first 10 milers blaze into the park and across the finish, and to enjoy the really great finish-line-expo the organizers had put together.

At home later, the time was still uncorrected, and reality was that my start time must have been lost. Even though 1:01:27 still beat the same two of my goals, and was pretty close to my chip time, I really wanted that independent and objective truth quality of a chip time I could point to. I chalked it up to experience thinking of something I heard in Randy Pausch’s Last Lecture: “Experience is what you get, when you don’t get what you wanted”. 

I told a few folks about the chiptime/clocktime predicament, and Steph’s friend Margreta suggested I contact the timing company and ask. So I e-mailed Gault Race Management, and they e-mailed me back INSANELY promptly on Sunday night at 9pm, and adjusted my time to the 1:00:35 that my Garmin recorded by 11pm that night. I want to thank them for being so helpful; I know that there’s no money on the line, and that the difference between 1:01:27 and 1:00:35 is no skin of their nose, but it was a huge boost to my morale to be able to point at the time  I earned.

The festive theme makes me look more celebratory, but no less tired. Rest assured, I'm excited about my time, not just the prospect of a slice of pizza at 9am.

So that’s the story… I timed the race myself, I took a wrong turn.  A crowd of other runners made the same turn, and it was a small difference at 60 feet or so, and the time on my Garmin was start-to-finish, so not much different from stopping a watch any other time. All these things still kind of remove the ‘air of authority’ from my race. Thinking about it that way, I’m STILL proud of myself. While the timing mat and the official results and the measured course are certainly appealing, the bottom line is that I KNOW I raced better than I have before. I made a new PR for the 10k, with a sub 10:00 pace, smashing my Turkey Trot ‘PR’ by over 15 minutes. I had a great time on a beautiful morning, and I got a great medal with an adorable running tiki-guy on it.

Doesn't that tiki guy look happy! I bet he's got a ton of body glide on under that grass skirt...

What’s important is that all sources agree, I didn’t break an hour in this race. That’s for next time!