St Boi 10 k

Although I was planning to run this race alone, in the end Charles decided to join me. I signed him up a few days ago, but he has a lot of schoolwork and had plans to study 24/7 this weekend. Anyhow, I think the guilt began to eat away at him and he, very sweetly, decided to come along.
I was a little nervous at first because a) we parked in a dirt lot and then walked about 10 minutes up a small mountain to the Estadi Municipal and I kept thinking that that 10-minute mountain climb would be the last 1.5 kilometers of the race, b)I was having some rather icky stomach issues, and c)I had decided to leave my I-pod in my duffle bag in honor of Charles who had sacrificed his studies in order to accompany me. I've been toying with the idea of weaning myself off the I-pod anyway. Shouldn't I listen to what's going on around me as I run? Shouldn't running be a time for thinking--a few hours a week to mull things over? Shouldn’t my own thoughts be enough to keep me occupied?
But as soon as I made the decision to run sans technology, it seemed that absolutely everyone else, except for about three super skinny 80-year-old runners, had their I-pods set and ready to go. I wondered if Charles’ presence would be enough to keep me from slowing down, could his love truly compete with the Neville Brothers’ “Pocky Way” for motivation?
A few trips to the bathroom, a conversation with a friendly Catalan weatherman / runner, and the pre-race festivities calmed me down and got me thinking positive. Since this was a fairly small race (1300 participants) and outside of the big city, everyone was really friendly and low-key. We watched the kids' fun run and by 10:08 we were off!
The course wasn’t pretty—Sant Boi is an industrial suburb outside of Barcelona so while you can imagine that circa 1900 the rolling hills along the Llobregat River must have been breathtaking, at this point it’s pretty much just sun-baked highways and dauntingly drab high-rise apartments built during the Franco regime. Charles stayed with me for about 2 kilometers and then he went on ahead. I understood his need to kick my ass, especially because I tried to outrun him Thursday night, so I patiently found my own rhythm and tried to keep him at least in sight.
The first half of the race went fairly well. The weather was perfect: low sixties and slightly cloudy and I was feeling good. I must say though that the Sant Boi crowds were surprisingly soso (bland, boring). Why can Spanish people get so excited about dancing at a town fair or a discotheque, but refuse to even clap for runners? It just goes to show that every culture has its own idea of what it means to look foolish. Most people just sort of stared at us in sleepy disbelief.
At km 6, I realized I was making decent time and that I could possibly finish in 57 minutes, but the last 3 km were all up hill and I slowed down and lost sight of Charles. I was moving sloooowly up that little mountain, just putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that not too many people would blow past me. And, luckily, they didn’t—everyone was hurtin´ at that point and when the guy next to me started walking I talked him into running, into running slowly, but running.
It was great to see my friend N, who lives in Sant Boi, wave to me at around km 8 and hearing her call my name gave me a little bit of kick, but by the time I reached the stadium I was extremely thirsty and my stomach really hurt. I’m ashamed to say that I jogged around the track to the finish line. Perhaps the stomach junk had dehydrated me more than I realized. This is the first time I haven’t really sprinted at the end of a race, but I have to say--all things considered-- that I’m reasonably happy with my time of 58:45 and this was a wake-up call: I best start training on some hills.

Late Night

I was home alone this evening, worrying about work stuff and trying to get some writing done and had pretty much decided that I would take an egg for the day. I did 10 k Monday and 5 k last night at the gym, so when Abby called and backed out off our Thursday night run I didn't even feel that guilty. However, when Charles got home at 9:30 he was destroyed after a long day at work and three hours of class, but he wanted to go for a run and so, we did! A short route down to the Barceloneta and back home on this glorious, springlike night. It's down right balmy for February. So tomorrow I'll aim for another short run, I'll rest on Saturday, and then Sunday morning we head to St Boi for a 10 k race and I hope to find a nice bar where we can have a cold beer afterwards!

Long Run: check

Last weekend it rained so I was able to back out of my long run. Yesterday, however, bloomed sunny and clear so there was no getting out of it. And I'm so glad I didn't escape! I still have to measure the distance on my bike, but I have recorded it (conservatively) as 14 k (8.75 miles) in my log. This long run--for me, I know it's actually not very long--took me an 1 hr 33 m with several short stops for water, traffic lights, slow families, and abuelos along the beach, plus one long stop to fiddle with my new shoe. The beach was packed yesterday, which is no surprise because the weather, after days and days of heavy rains, was incredible. You could see all the way to...well I'm not sure how far it was, but let's leave it at all the way to Mataró. And, the super fast, super serious runner (no shirt, no ipod, no gear, just him along the beach) waved at me again. That's the second time. He knows, although no one else believes it, not even me, that I'm a real runner.