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2018 Belmont Water Dog Run 10k Race Recap – Belmont, CA

2018 Belmont Water Dog Run 10k Race Recap – Belmont, CA

I recall, probably a couple years ago now, that my dear friend Stephanie — whom I had first met through TSFM’s ambassador program back in 2014 — mentioned that she was planning a community race, the Water Dog 5k, 10k, 1 mile kids’ race, and 1 mile Fido run in her hometown on the peninsula between SJ and SF. I wanted to support my friend and the hard work that she had been throwing down for two years to make her race come to fruition, so when registration went live earlier this year, I signed up for the 10k without thinking about it. A 10k in October? I’ll be in CIM training by then. It’ll be great.

Thus began and ended any research I did for this inaugural race. To be fair, there wasn’t much research to be done, with it being inaugural and all. Sure, I read the emails, and I occasionally read the facebook updates, but that was it; there were no previous years’ race reports to pore through or anything like that. Plus, up until a week or so before the race, I had never even been to Belmont before. It’s on the peninsula … somewhere … maybe around SFO? Sure. That seemed about right.

Aside from supporting my dear friend’s hard work, I also planned to use the WDR as feedback for how my CIM training is progressing. It seems to be going well, but I’ve struggled a bit with pacing for most of my workouts. It’s super common for runners to race their workouts during their training — doing workouts much, much too hard when they shouldn’t be — and I’ve been doing this stuff long enough to know all the reasons why that’s inherently a horrible idea. Leave the racing for Race Day, ya know? That said … by and large, that’s been my experience with a lot of my workouts of late. (not a humblebrag, promise) I conferred with Coach Lisa on the subject, and rather than me playing a guessing game — am I being irresponsible and over-running my workout paces, or is something better underfoot and my prescribed paces actually too slow?? — we’d have me really race the WDR and use the feedback accordingly to guide the rest of my CIM training.

Race day brought with it an early morning so I could go get my bib (hooray for race-day pickup) and get in a little bit of a warm-up before getting the show on the road. I didn’t realize that I’d be parking about a half-mile away from the starting area, which was also where I’d be picking up my bib (again with the whole “lack of research” theme). It was fine, and I got my bib and still managed to get in a warm-up with enough time to spare. Before too long, I lined up toward the front of the race — after quickly hugging Stephanie and telling her how much ass she kicked — and it was go time. The weather was basically quintessential perfectly autumnal: clear and (California) crisp.

The race began on the campus of Notre Dame de Namur, and right off the the line, runners had a pretty steep downhill. Once we jutted off the campus, we began a long, slow climb that (spoilers) basically didn’t end for three miles! Miles 0-2 were primarily on roads and through a little neighborhood seemingly pretty near the college campus; as far as I can remember, I think this little section between miles ~.25-1.2 were the only residential parts of the run. Once we were out of the neighborhood, circa mile 1.5, we were back on a main road, slowly but surely continuing to grind our way up. What?! I thought this was a fast 10k?!, I thought to myself. Oh, right. I have no idea. No where to go but up. Head down. Effort over pace.

perhaps a huge hint that we wouldn’t be on roads, exclusively, was seeing our little foray into a park (but hey, hindsight is 20/20) (PC: WDR twitter)

Right around the 2 mile mark, we 5k and 10k runners split from each other, and the 10k runners hopped off the pavement and entered a trail system that was beautiful, of course, especially with the great morning light, the leaves changing colors, and that perfect autumnal backdrop I mentioned earlier. It also meant that the two miles of climbing that I thought were behind us were just the beginning! At this point, it was almost laughable. I obviously couldn’t be mad or upset — I didn’t do any research, so I had literally no idea that the race was 50/50 road and trail — and since I had never really been to Belmont before, much less run there, I had NO idea where we were and where we were going (besides up). Right as we started climbing on the trails, two women overtook me. Keep the slow burn going, I thought, and adjust expectations. We’ve gotta go down at some point.

Well, yes and no, ha. While we were on the trail, we eventually did begin descending — praise be! — only to turn around and begin ascending again. This was around the halfway, halfway-plus mark of the race, and I assumed that if we’d begin retracing our steps, the second half of the race was going to couple the first half’s ongoing ascents with a LOT of descents. Maybe if we were lucky, all those hills we climbed in the front half we’d get to fly down on the back half. That whole mentality about adjusting expectations was going to come in real handy because even if my 10k pace went to shit on the front half, perhaps I could recoup something on the second half. Maybe I could even pick off the women who had passed me on the climb. Game on. It’s not over ‘til it’s over. This is where all those hours of listening to podcasts featuring pro runners (and especially hearing them talk about their mental strategies) comes in handy.

Running downhill on trails isn’t my strong suit, but I think I’ve gotten marginally better at it (emphasis on the marginally). I tried to bomb downhill as much as I could responsibly handle from the halfway point on, and compounding the challenge with the trail footing — dry dirt, loose stones, random tree roots and the like — was the fact that we were running directly into the sun. I had on sunglasses, per yoosh, but I still looked like I was having a moment with the Force or something because I had to run with my hand in the air, repeatedly, to try to block the sun. The stakes were high here if I misjudged my footing; at best, I’d just faceplant and eat shit. At worst, I’d run into the oncoming racers who were still ascending or fly off the hillside into the cliffs below. Along the way, on my descent, I saw my teammate Michelle, which was a great pick-me-up, and the incoming racers buoyed my spirits as well with their enthusiasm and support that I gladly reciprocated.

The trail section ended up being right about 50% of the course, from about mile 2-5, and it was literally right as we were exiting it, right around mile 5, that I caught up to the second woman and passed her. We gave each other good job, you’re killing it remarks, and I was hopeful that I could continue to find the higher gear for the final 1.2 of the course that I was hoping would be exclusively on the road and continue to be downhill. I correctly anticipated merging with the slower 5k runners and walkers, and fortunately the ped traffic wasn’t an issue at all. It was really easy to get around people without consequence.

I never saw the first female again and focused on running scared, as though the third woman was hot on my heels. (In reality, I had no idea where she was after I passed her). Most of the final 1.2 was on the main road that we had ascended initially, the one that dumped us into the trail system, and at about mile 6, we hopped off the road and into a little city park, the same area that I had visited a week or two before for two nights of Girl Scout camping training. How funny: I had been to Belmont exactly twice before in my life, and the race ended literal steps from exactly where I had been hanging out for six hours just a week or two earlier. I tried to finish as hard as I could and not eat shit in the process, what with the tricky footing of getting around strollers, walkers, and families who were finishing the 5k. I didn’t want to inadvertently take anyone out, much as I also didn’t want to take anyone out, myself.  

I finished pretty gassed and happy with the effort, regardless of whatever my watch said. Any chance of a PR was completely out the window with the terrain and the hills, and I’m pretty confident that this was the hardest 10k I have ever raced. It was impossible not to laugh about it at the end; Stephanie is a badass ultra trail runner, so of course her race would have a ton of trail and a ton of uphill! I wanted to use the WDR as a barometer to gauge my fitness and my workouts for my marathon training, and instead, I managed to race a really hard trail/road hybrid that left me in the dark about my current fitness. My bad. Most importantly, all of this was on me; had I done even an iota of research about the race — including, oh, I don’t know, looking at a course map — I would have been tipped off that I was going into the experience with inaccurate assumptions. It was all good, though. I got to see Stephanie again after the race, tell her how I was alternatingly loving her and cursing her name throughout the race on the ascents and descents, and honestly, the race was really well-executed. I would have had no idea that it was in its inaugural year.

After seeing in my teammate, Michelle, I went for a short CD, helped myself to the complimentary pancake breakfast, got a post-race stretch that hurt so good from one of the sponsors, and also managed to run into my other fellow TSFM ambassador buddies Claire and Scott (the latter with his family in tow who’d all be doing the Fido run later). All these little mini reunions made what was already a really enjoyable and beautiful morning even more so.

Wolfpack love with Michelle! It was awesome to see her mid-race

 

I’ve been trying to convince Scott that this should be his holiday card this year. I just love his and his wife’s smiles.

I planned to stick around for the award ceremony because I was the second woman finisher and thought I had read that winners had to be present to accept their awards, which is often par for the course. It ended up that I had made another mistake in this regard, since I thought I had read that the awards were being given out three deep to both men and women, which, again is often par for the course for races. Because this was the race’s inaugural year — and because all the prizes were donated — they were three deep, period, regardless of male/female distinction. That ultimately meant that of the top 3 women finishers, the 3rd place woman — who had finished high in her 20 year-old bracket — was recognized but not the 1st woman or me since other 30-39 year-old men placed higher/finished faster than us.

Stephanie being thanked for her hard work by the Chamber of Commerce (I think – not sure). Proud of my friend!

Once I realized that this was the case — after talking with the #1 and the #3 woman finishers and getting a pic of all three of us together — I left and headed for home since I had 12083048 things to do that day and my family was waiting around for me. Admittedly, it was different to finish so high on the female side and not be recognized, but it wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t until I got home and re-read that emails that I saw that my original understanding was wrong. No big. Add it to the ever-growing list of mistakes I had made that morning. I race to get the most out of myself on any given day, to push myself to the limit, and to be satisfied at the end of the race, knowing that I put myself out there. Those are feelings that no amount of material or recognition can even come close to replicating. I left the race satisfied with the effort I produced on the day.

L-R #3 F, #1, and me (#2)

I couldn’t be more proud of my friend, Stephanie, and all the work (and basically her soul) that she threw into making her inaugural race such a success. It sold out with over 900 participants across all the events, and when they planned it, they audaciously aimed for 600. There was such a great community feeling to the race, too, and the commentary I heard in person, at the race, and afterward, online, all indicated how much her community really needed and wanted a race like this (and one that benefitted public education, no less). While I didn’t accomplish that which I set out to on race day, I was really happy with the effort and satisfied with what I was able to do. I’m already looking forward to the 2019 iteration (and you’d better believe I’ll read those emails and check out the course maps a little more closely before the next go).

2018 She.is.Beautiful ‘baby mama’ 10k race report – Santa Cruz, CA

2018 She.is.Beautiful ‘baby mama’ 10k race report – Santa Cruz, CA

The Santa Cruz iteration of Run She.is.Beautiful 5k/10k has become a go-to race for me in the past few years. It has been a race that I’ve done for the past four years now, almost as long as I have lived here, when I’ve been in very different junctures in my life: in 2015, pushing A in the 5k, and freshly into my second trimester with G; in 2016, pushing a little 7 month-old G in the 10k; in 2017, pushing a bigger, heavier, and of course older G in the 10k again; and now, in 2018, pushing G in the 10k yet again, and just one day shy of 6 weeks after having a stroke.

from packet pickup in SC on Thursday

 

To run — or race — a 10k, pushing your heavy and healthy 2 ½ year old, just six weeks after having a stroke is both an exercise in humility and unwavering gratitude. I had registered for this race way back in autumn ‘18, before I had even a remote idea of how I wanted my spring racing to resemble. After the CIM high came and went, and Lisa and I started rebuilding in January, I figured that maybe I’d be able to repeat all my other SIB appearances, notch another W for the fourth consecutive year (because why not aim high, right?), and more importantly, hack off some more time from my SIB ‘17 posting. It sounded good on paper, at least. 

definitely some truth here

The stroke, of course, upended everything, but only to a degree. When I toed the line at SIB, surrounded by basically a colony’s worth of some of my friends from various running circles, Wolfpack and more, my mind wasn’t focused so much on what would surely be the physical challenges of the day — I had run exactly six times in six weeks, with all of those runs being in the ten days prior to race day, and no more than 5 miles — but instead, I just couldn’t believe that I was there, that I was physically well enough and sufficiently able-bodied post-stroke to go casually run a 10k while pushing my toddler. Oh, also, I had run with G exactly one time — for a solid 2 miles, on my first run post-stroke — so not only was I definitely out of shape, I was also intensely out of stroller running shape. (There’s a difference; ask any parent who runs pushing children). This was going to be quite a ride for sure, much like this whole post-stroke reality has been.

SIB always has great signs pre-, mid-, and post-race

I couldn’t have picked a better race to be my first foray “back” into the racing scene, and my expectations — and if I’m being honest, my goals, too — were nonexistent. I just wanted to do it. I had even told my friends that, in the days preceding the race, if my neurologist were to come back and renege on his earlier diagnosis and sideline me from running for longer, I still would have made the trip over the hill for the race, even if it meant experiencing it on the sidelines. The positivity, sense of empowerment, community, inspiration, and of course, the fun competition that this race engenders is second to none, and it’s truly up there with Thanksgiving on my “favorite days of the year” list. It means a lot because I believe in its message, that you (I, we, all of us) are good enough where we are, right now, and that we’d all do both ourselves and the world a solid by acknowledging that.

 

Wolfpack women showing up

The beauty of starting lines is the promise they hold. We’re designed in such a way that we place a lot of value on ways to demarcate our time (and our lives, really) very cleanly; in so many words, that’s why so many of us will willingly start a new habit (a better way of eating, a more regimented exercise routine, whatever) on a Monday, or on January 1, rather than some random Thursday in August. (Aside: Daniel Pink’s When talks about this in a lot more detail. It’s really fascinating. We are hardwired to do some weird shit).

Anyway, to be able to stand at an actual starting line, a real, tangible, starting line, surrounded by a sea of other people — in this case, women,  more or less around my age, some pushing kiddos around G’s age — was a very cool feeling. Couple that with the fact that I just had a medical emergency that could have very well killed me a month and a half earlier, and yeah, suffice it to say that I was thinking about starting lines in ways more profound than simply related to running.

…and friends <3

Starting lines intrigue me so much, too, because most of the time, we have close to no idea of what everyone had to do, which choices they had to make, in order to be standing at that start line, bumping shoulders with us, and yet here we all are, together, about to race alongside each other and travel the same journey. That starting line may be Runner A’s way of making an income, while it could be a PR attempt for Runner B, or a celebration of many weeks’ and months’ worth of concerted training and shattering comfort zones for Runner C. Runner D might have gotten suckered into showing up by a friend, or Runner E could be there simply because they’re alive and feel like that is reason enough. Talking about starting lines in such crunchy granola terms like this makes me sound more hippy-dippy and metaphysical than I actually am, but there’s an inherent beauty in starting lines — and in the promise they hold, the sheer opportunity and magnitude that underpins them — and sometimes, it’s easy to forget. It’s really a pretty beautiful thing when you step back and really consider it in its totality; it makes me, at least, stop and sorta behold the whole thing. 

 

nice capture by the race photographer’s drone; do you see us?

 

thanks to SIB for the free pics, too!

The SIB 10k, specifically the ‘baby mama’ division (the race category that delineates stroller-pushing runners from those running unencumbered), was my first opportunity since my stroke to see a lot of my teammates and friends from the running community. Holding my shit together was of the essence — there’s no crying in running! How can you run if you can’t see through teary eyes!? — and for the most part, I was successful. Janet and I, and our respective kiddos, ran from her friend’s house to the start line, about a mile and change, for our warm-up before hanging around for a while and catching up with many of our teammates and friends from the greater south bay running scene. I didn’t hesitate to line up right on the line, even though I knew I wouldn’t be racing at any sub-7 paces like I’ve done before in this race, and when the starting sound blared, under a somewhat ominous sky and over freshly-rained-on pavement, G and I began cruising toward the finish line.

 

with Janet and Paula and children at the start

 

an added bonus of running with the stroller is having my phone for start line pics 🙂

As much as I can tell, the course was the same, or very similar, to the 10k course in 2017. Meg passed me early on and went on to clinch the 10k baby mama W this year (which was awesome!), and I got to see a handful of 5k-running teammates at their turn-around, flying toward home. Seeing Dave and three of the four fitfam6 children around mile 2, just like last year, was a treat as always, and when my body began to make it resoundingly clear that it was sufficiently tired, I didn’t think twice about slowing down: no expectations, no goals, just sheer gratitude to be alive to be there racing with whatever I had in me on the day. G was comfortably hanging in her little sleeping bag-like stroller sack and remarkably managed to fall asleep sometime before mile 4, if I recall correctly, even with American Idiot jamming behind her head. (She’s a big Green Day fan).

HI, FRIEND! (PC: Dave/@fitfam6)

After we exited Natural Bridges, began running straight into a wall of wind, and inched our way closer to the finish line and Hoka’s half-mile-to-home finishing straight contest, somewhere in the mix, I noticed JT Service (founder of Represent Running, the race organization responsible for the Run the Bay series of events) doing crowd control. Never before I have attempted to run, while pushing a stroller, and somehow mid-run jump to the left, while never letting go of the stroller, and hug another person without breaking stride, but now I can add that trick to my repertoire. Next time, I’ll have to add the “take a picture” element to that maneuver.

another great drone capture by the event photog

 

Santa Cruz is stupid pretty sometimes (another great free pic)

Per usual with SIB, the last bit of the race, when the 5k merges with the 10k, was pretty hairy. I’m not sure how SIB can rectify the problem, short of staging the race at different times (5k before the 10k or vice-versa) or changing the course altogether to one that’d allow for wider passage, and even these changes would bring some unwanted side effects, too. In pre-race emails, I noticed that they had communicated very clearly and very explicitly that runners and walkers shouldn’t be more than two abreast, but unfortunately — as in years past — people didn’t listen, didn’t seem to know, or maybe didn’t care. It was no big deal for me this year, since I wasn’t racing competitively, but I know from years past that it can be really frustrating to be coming in hot — and pushing a stroller — and suddenly have to worry about crashing into a wall of people who can’t hear you or don’t understand (or care?) that you don’t want to break pace. Every year I want to solve this challenge, and every year I come up short.

Time to fly for the final 800m of the race (and navigate a sea of people)

As I finished the 10k, I couldn’t help but laugh at how tired I was and wondered if I had bored G to sleep, since she had been knocked out for a while and proceeded to sleep for another 30+ minutes at the post-race awards ceremony, to the backdrop of bumpin’ music and a boisterous crowd. It was awesome to see so many teammates and friends again and to meet friends of friends and re-meet Strava/IG/people I’ve met at previous races. It was also really touching to hear so many people ask me how I was doing and listen to them tell me that they had been following my story online for the past couple months. For someone who’s way more comfortable talking about my children’s exploits, or otherwise operating fairly behind the scenes, it is incredibly humbling to hear so many people tell you that they’ve been worried about you and have been thinking, praying, rooting, whatever for you and your continued good health.

    

she rarely sleeps when we run together, so I was pretty impressed.

Janet, the children, and I ran another mile cooldown back to her friend’s house, and we eventually went over to our teammate, Sam’s, beautiful home for brunch, alongside many other teammates, friends, and family members. It was an awesome morning and a long one, too; G and I left SJ around 6am for an 8:30 race and didn’t return until close to 3pm. It was wonderful.

 

cooling down along the coast with Janet and the kids

There was a time in my life, relatively recently, where I would hesitate to show up for races if I weren’t in “racing shape” because I wanted to spare myself the embarrassment and the trip on the Struggle Bus. All things considered, it would have been a lot easier for me not to run SIB for any number of obvious reasons, but running this race — showing up for both it and myself, really — mattered to me. Among other things, it signified that I was moving in the direction of recovery post-stroke — both physiologically and psychologically — and surrounding myself for a morning with some of my biggest local cheerleaders and friends whom I genuinely find inspiring and wonderful human beings, who just so happen to be runners, was good for my soul and my head. Most of us would stand to benefit a ton from doing more stuff that’s good for our souls and our heads, regardless if we’re coming off a life-threatening medical emergency or not. YOLO, right? Let us not waste our precious time on things, activities, or people who rob us of joy.

Ultimately, on SIB race day (St. Patrick’s Day!), I had run my furthest distance post-stroke (a continuous 10k and 8+ for the day), and soreness aside — the woes of getting in shape — I felt great. When I talk about my running, I always say that my joy is in the journey, and SIB is a perfect backdrop for that sentiment. If you’re local or are ever in the area, definitely put it on your calendar. (Plus, this year’s Women Who Fly winners will get to run SIB in Santa Barbara, yay! If you haven’t yet, seriously: go apply! What do you have to lose by trying?!)

Again: thank you, so much, for all your continued support and encouragement.

d’awwwwwwwwww