Wednesday night I spent at my friends place in Connectict, where I drank eleven beers and didn't go to sleep until about 2:30. Thursday morning I woke up hungover and with aching joints. It was cold and rainy and dreary, and I had left all my arthritis meds back in Brooklyn. I really thought that I was going to pull out after two miles and just call it a day. We left my friends house around 9:15, and the race started at 10AM. Note for future: Leave a lot earlier.
We spent thirty minutes trying to find parking, and I had to practically spring the half mile from my car to the parking lot. I didn't have pins for my race number, and I had gotten separated from my friend while parking, so I was basically up shits creek without a paddle. Luckily I ran into another friend, and she gave me two of her pins.
I lined up at the very back of the starting pack, and it took me 8 minutes to cross the start line. My first mile was wicked slow, because I was at the very back and was weaving in and out of walkers and families and the 13/mm runners. I had wanted to finish this race in under 55 minutes, and I was kind of dejected after I realized that probably wasn't going to happen.
The second mile was all. up. hill. It was painful. The third mile, all the elevation loss was in about a quarter mile. The rest of the race had a net elevation loss, so life was good.
As you can see, once I got out of the crush of humanity after mile 2, I was running negative splits for the rest of the race which actually made me pretty happy. I had taken a GU about ten minutes before the race, and between that and my slow first mile, the arthritic joint creaks had pretty much subsided. After mile 2.5 I was feeling really, really good.