No One to Blame But Myself

My lungs were burning.  My stomach was churning.  My quads screamed for mercy.  Let's face it, I was miserable, which was not exactly how I had planned on spending my Saturday morning.  OK - I admit that's not entirely true.  I brought this pain on myself.  I had planned on running this blasted race.  I just had no clue what I had gotten myself into.  I signed up for the Chesebro Half Marathon in Agoura Hills months ago, thinking it would be good training for Big Sur.  I reasoned a trail race would be the ideal training tool for the grueling hills that will dominate my upcoming marathon.  And, admittedly, it probably was.  (A good training tool, that is.)  It forced me to work on my speed, while negotiating steep terrain.  But, what I didn't count on was how incredibly difficult the course was actually going to be.  Some of the climbs were so unforgivingly steep that I had no choice but to walk for a moment or two.  (And, to be honest, my "running" pace probably wasn't much faster than a fast walk by that point, anyhow.)  Other times, even on seemingly flat terrain, I felt like I was barely crawling along.  It was frustrating, demoralizing, and maddening.  I've never felt more chewed up and spit out by any other course. And  I've certainly never been so happy to see the finish line materialize before me.  It definitely wasn't a PR kind of day, but I still finished with a respectable time of 1:48, which placed me 4th out of the 72 females in the 30-34 division, and 29th out 519 overall females.  I guess that will have to do.