Some Observations From and Things That Happened At the Sactown 10-Miler

  • It turns out if you start a race that is significantly longer than 5K at your 5K pace, you’ll reach a point (say, after about five kilometers) where you will deeply regret this decision.
  • Also: Knowing that a race is going to be miserable and that you’re not going to want to do it and that you’re training-wrecked going in, doesn’t actually make it any less miserable or make you any more excited about the experience.
  • Apparently, my super awesome pink and yellow striped spandex shorts (basically these ones but in pink and yellow stripes) that I got for $14 at the Nike outlet do not photograph well in the sun against my extreme whiteness. Noted.
Photo: Randy Wehner Photography
  • After I imploded, I still finished, and it was fiiiiiiiiiine. But there was a period in the middle where I didn’t think I was going to finish, because I thought I’d have to throw up for bit instead.
  • It’s a hard calculation to do: Should I take this gel/cup of water, even though I know it’s giving me splitting side stitches, doubling-over cramps, or should I just go thirsty instead?
  • My fastest mile was 6:00. My slowest was 6:45. That’s quite a range.
  • Sara Hall did the race. She was the second woman, because our Pacific Association “local” races are stupid. I was 24th, after five women passed me in the last half-mile. I was actually quite surprised/pleased with 24th.
  • Steve had gone to do some other stuff and given me the key to his office, so I could leave my clothes and bag in there, and use the bathroom. After the race, I was walking the few blocks back, wearing those yellow and pink shorts with my favorite pink running jacket thrown over the tank top. And, yeah, even though I was just a few blocks away, I looked out of place in downtown Sacramento, so I wasn’t super surprised (or thrilled) when the random guys that semi-live around there started making comments at me. I just did the thin smile/nod thing that says, ‘Please don’t hurt me, but also leave me alone,’ and kept walking. One of them told me I looked so amazing, hot, etc, and I was pretty sure he was kidding, because I looked like I just spent an hour trying not to throw up or shit myself. But then I heard him get out of his car and come running after me, and then he stopped me and started going on about how great I look and how he just needed to come talk to me, and what’s my name, etc, etc. And, look, yeah, 90-95% chance he was a totally fine guy. But I don’t know for sure, and this wasn’t a situation in which I was comfortable or wanted to find out more. I wanted to sit down. I was by myself without my phone, about to walk into a completely empty office building, and these kinds of things can go so bad so quickly. Of course, though, I didn’t get into it or explain why it’s not really cool to put someone in that position or discuss whether I owe him anything in exchange for being female. Instead, I said, “Sorry, I just did a race. I’m really tired. I’m going to go in here now.” And then I made sure the building’s door locked behind me and I sat in Steve’s office for 30 minutes waiting until I thought he’d probably left. Which wasn’t that hard, since it took me almost 30 minutes to get up out of a chair and pull on sweatpants.