Return of the Son of Speedwork on the Beach

We've sneaked off to San Agustinillo on the Oaxaca coast for an extended weekend. Sneaked I say, as we've developed a habit of coming here for a week in the winter, so this is an extra beach bump in late November. Actually, we got here just in time for Thanksgiving dinner on the beach after the six hour mountain drive from the city of Oaxaca.

I've loved running fast on the beach since I discovered the flat expanses of sandbar on the bay side of Cape Cod around Eastham and Orleans when I was a teenager. It is exhilarating to notch up the pace to a serious middle distance cadence, zipping across firm wet sand.

Last night we got here at 6:00--the tide was in and I blipped and blooped through soggy sand at a pitched angle and dutifully covered a stretch of beach, but I knew I'd have to catch low tide to really let loose.

This morning at 7:30 the tide was about the same, I warmed up for 14 minutes, again sloggin through wet sand on a sandy slope to the waves. A bit of breakfast and chill time, and I returned to the beach as the heat of the day came on around 10:00 am and it was go time. I peeled off 7 repeats of about 200 meters, slowing increasing the pace to roughly 800 meter race pace. Damn, it's fun to run fast! I felt relaxed and in control, breezing along the surface of flat, packed sand.

For once, I left it at a good point. I sometimes spend all my juice on too many intervals the first day at the beach. Today, I left some gas in the tank for another go at it tomorrow.

Racing: Did I Fight For It?

Quick thought on racing.

OK, I'm 57 years old. I'm not gonna win races or get PRs at this stage of the game. Yet I still love to race and compete.

I suppose I'm mostly competing with myself; my basic idea is to pace myself wisely, put my best foot forward. Generally, I try to run negative splits in a race for the overall best result. If there are other runners around over the closing stages of the race, I do get competitive.

Bottom line, I want to walk away feeling like I fought for the best possible run I could have that day. It might mean surging to get away from a group of runners with a mile to go, or simply maintaining rhythm when my goose is clearly cooked. On a few glorious occasions, it means burning through the last few miles effortlessly, picking up the pace the whole time.

Should I get to the finish line having worked out how to parcel out my energy well, I'm pretty pumped. Never mind that my pace in a 10K race now would have been an easy day for me up until just a few years ago, a true blue runner never stops chasing that dream and never gives up. And that is plenty enough.