beating my best

This morning I rolled myself out of bed at 7am (keeping in mind that it is a Sunday) and headed for the starting line of the 10km race that I had so masochistically enforced upon myself. I am a sucker for self punishment.

Actually, now that I've started running races, it has become a continual competition with myself to beat my "PB" (personal best). Each race is a chance to be better, a chance to kick my own ass, and then a chance to gloat about it in my journal.

My PB for the ten kilometer distance was established last year at 42 minutes. Not bad... but I knew I could do better. So this morning, inspired by the tightness of my new retro-knee-high socks, I set out to enter the "thirties". I wanted a score below 40 minutes.

The race was long, with a strong sensation to vomit around the 8km mark, but I managed to keep the bile in my stomach. I entered the Olympic Stadium (the site of the finish line) to the cheers of Tim and Betty-Lou, which inspired me to push harder. Upon rounding the last corner, I saw the clock above the finish line... it read 39 minutes, 45 seconds. So with 100 meters to go, I gave it my all, crossing the line as the clock turned to 40 minutes.

So did I get my below 40 time?

Well I verified my time a couple hours ago, and I am proud to announce that my new PB is 39:59.6... Yeehaw! Yup, I snuck in with 0.4 seconds to spare.

I would like to dedicate my race to irony and individuality. There was a tragic lack of representation of disheveled retro runners with short-shorts, head bands, and tube socks...

If I am going to beat myself, I am going to kick my ass with style.