"Hill is my last name"

So I know it's a little ridiculous to post twice in one day but I ran a race yesterday that I want to talk about. I signed up for the Wild Rover Series, which is three Irish-themed races in the Merrimack Valley on three consecutive Sundays. Last week was the Frozen Shamrock 3-miler in Haverhill; aside from the blizzard and lack of time clocks on the course, it was a decent event. Yesterday was the second race in the series, the Claddagh Pub 4-miler in Lawrence. My dad had run it twice before and warned me of The Hill. "Some people will be walking it," "It's pretty tough, I'm not gonna lie," etc. On the Facebook event for the race, everyone was talking about "THAT DAMN HILL!" So I was understandably ridiculously intimidated by this hill, but I resolved I would walk no part of it. After all, Hill is my last name.

Mom, Dad, Andrew, and I arrived in Lawrence to much better weather than I had last week at the Frozen Shamrock. It was in the low 50s and although there was a light wind blowing, I'd take it over blizzarding anytime. Dad, who is also my official/unofficial coach, had discussed with me that I should shoot to run the race at 8 minute pace or less. I should go out in about 7:45 or 7:50 for the first mile and settle in, and tackle The Hill. Sounded good to me.

Photo credit: http://jimrhoades.com/11/claddagh/

In some races, you know pretty early on that it's not your day. This was one of those races. I was already getting fatigued and I hadn't even seen the mile mark yet. Could I have missed it? Nope, there it was- 8:01. GREAT. I was already tired and I wasn't even going fast! Our plan was already down the drain. I felt myself deflate a little. I continued on, knowing the worst was yet to come.

About 1.5 miles in, I saw The Hill. To my surprise, it wasn't even as bad as some of the hills I run around my house. So I cut my stride and increased my arm pumping, just as one of my coaches taught me, and soon I was at the top! That wasn't so bad! It was all downhill from here right?

Wrong. Soooooo wrong. I turned the corner, and there it was. It was a mountain. What was a mountain doing in the middle of Lawrence? I saw people near the top of it walking. Oh God. In my head flashed images of myself collapsed on the side of the road, not having enough energy to make it to the top. Still, since my time goal was out the window, I knew I at least had to keep my promise to myself to run the entire thing. So I did. "Hill is my last name," ventured my subconscious. Shreds of the How to Train Your Dragon soundtrack floated through my head. I was reduced to a shuffle at some parts, but I never stopped. Turning the corner and still heading slightly uphill, I ran by a water station. I've literally never taken water in a race, but I still felt the placing of this stop was ridiculous. After a much appreciated downhill, I spied the 2-mile clock. 16:59, 17:00. You've got to be kidding me.

After I had climbed Mt. Claddagh, it seemed I had used up my stores of mental energy, so I switched to autopilot. All I could really think about was not stopping. Every so often, a thought would slip in about how I've disappointed Dad and myself, but it would evaporate away like sweat. Soon, I was at the 3 mile clock- it was either in the late 24s or early 25s; by this time, I was a bit disoriented and I can't remember what it said. I attempted some quick math in my head and realized I had run a negative split. This makes sense since I climbed a mountain in mile 2, but in my fragile state, I was just happy that I had sped up and it helped convince me I could keep going.

Soon, I knew I was approaching the finish, but I couldn't tell where it was. My slightly blurred vision spotted Dad's red Boston Marathon volunteer jacket first, and then I heard Mom and Andrew yelling my name. "It's just around the corner!" she yelled. Now I must tell you that even in training runs, I always kick to the end, no matter how dead I am. I spotted a pack of three runners ahead of me and I decided I wasn't about to let them beat me. With my last shred of energy, I rocketed past them. According to the official results, I beat them.

Photo credit: http://jimrhoades.com/11/claddagh/

As soon as I went over the line, I was spent. I managed to grasp the medal a volunteer held out to me, then staggered away. When Dad came over to me, I leaned against him and closed my eyes. I told them about my time at the mile mark and that I was faked out by the miniature hill. Dad laughed and said he should have warned me about that. We headed upstairs to grab some pasta, bread, and salad, and then we left because I had to get ready for work, aka change my clothes and spray on some perfume so the customers wouldn't smell me.

Here's the rundown on my finish:

• 33:03, only about a minute off my goal time. Aside from the second mile, which included the ascent of Mt. Claddagh, I ran almost perfectly even splits.
• Overall finish: 158/736 total participants
• 13/68 in the 20-29 age group

One more race in the series- the Hynes Tavern 5 miler- on the 13th!