Not Born to Run HQ Under Attack

(My bathroom ceiling, day 7, AFTER upstair's landlord's contractor came to see whether the leak was from a common condo pipe, or from the upstairs apartment. I think the curtain rod holders lend a certain je ne sais quois to the scene.)


(You should have seen it BEFORE he cut the hole. ANYBODY HOME UP THERE?))

(Note the clever disguise of trash bag over the place where TILE USED TO BE. That was Number One Daughter's idea. If you squint it kind of looks like a window. Kind of.)

Yes, this is the high-class zip code in which I live. (It actually IS a high-class zip: 20817! Look it up.)

So the tenants upstair's landlord's contractor (got all that?) said yes, his employer's apartment's leak caused the damage. (Who lives up there you ask? Mr. landlord's MAID! And her family. They live rent free, in exchange for maid services at the guy's McMansion. Is that legal?) And the contractor added that he, Mr. S. H. (the landlord, who I am so outing in the next post) is responsible for fixing the ceiling. However, the whole bathroom needs to be replaced, and he's not responsible for everything that's wrong or broken, so now we start the haggle. My wonderful building maintenance guy said he'd do the whole job for $4800.

Meanwhile, I am showering at work.

This Must Be the Place

Recognize this? You should—it's everywhere!

The very kind people at Accelerade sent me a few boxes of this stuff and asked if I'd give it a test ride and let people know what I thought. So, I did (sort of) and I will.

Yesterday was my 10-mile group long run so off I went in my little putt-putt machine hoping the engine would not decide to break down on the beltway at 7 a.m. We meet at 7:30 a.m. these days, which is supposed to be early but in Washington might as well be high noon. Too late people!

Yesterday's long run for my group was four miles on the Mt. Vernon trail, which runs along the Virginia side of the Potomac River. We met at Daingerfield Island (which is neither dangerous nor an island) and ran north to Reagan National Airport and back. My personal long-run schedule said six miles, which I had tried to do a few weeks ago on my own and choked. So while hanging around waiting for everyone to arrive, I intensely debated whether or not to add on two miles. Like my life depended on it.


There were about 10,000 runners gathered at Daingerfield Island on Saturday: Team in Training, the Arlington Road Runners, Galloway's group, and a few others. Toss in a few thousand bikers on the trail and good luck not getting killed. As we waited, like some old school marm (no offense to old school marms!) I warned people to please stay to the right and not run six abreast as I've seen some highly organized groups do.

Coach J. arrived and off we went.

Coach J.'s group has a wide range of paces: from 9-minute milers to 13-minute milers. Two people were far ahead of me, one girl was near my pace but was walk/running, and the rest of the group was a behind me. Alone in the midst of thousands. A voice in the wilderness. And, I had made the supreme sacrifice of running sans headphones since I'm trying to be social! For naught!

Oh the humanity.

At the turnaround point I finally made the critical all-important life changing decision that today was the day I was going to merge my two programs into one and get my six-mile long run in. I was feeling good at mile two so pushed on to three. It was hot, the trail has lots of rolling hills, and little shade. And I was cleverly carrying no water. (But I did have my shoe ID on! Thanks, E.!)

(Mt. Vernon trail, Gravelly Point, north of National airport. Clueless walker about to be mowed down by bike.)

Still feeling good at mile three, I started worrying about no water. Lucky for me the Arlington Road Runners Club had a lovely table set up nearby with my version of sex on the beach: frozen grapes! And pretzels. A veritable buffet. And water. I helped myself to two gulps of water, said thanks, and was on my way.

Was that wrong?

Six miles in the can! I'm just starting to believe that ten is within my grasp. Maybe.

But. It. Was. Hot. Apparently my moisture-wicking clothing lost its wickiness a while ago. I was drenched. I inhaled an entire bottle of Gatorade and another of water the minute I got back.

After I got in the car, I pulled out the Accelerade. I swilled some down while I cranked up the heat in my car (to pull it out of the engine. Fun.).

So a few words about Accelerade. First, it's got milk products (whey protein) in it, so if you're vegan, you might think twice about it.

Second, it's not really a thirst quencher. The "citrus grapefruit" flavor left a not-unpleasant after-taste, but also left me thirsty. It has an odd mouth-feel.

The protein in it is 'sposed to make it a good recovery drink, but I'm not sure I gave it a good test. I got home, read the paper, and immediately crashed for two hours. So maybe it's good for getting you to sleep?

When I woke up, I had a slightly sick stomach. It could have been the Gatorade, the heat, the Starbucks raspberry scone I picked up on the way home OR the Accelerade.

But that didn't stop me from heading out to celebrate someone's birthday at the Korean BBQ. And if you've ever read someone's blog, you know she can really pack in the calories. She's a machine. I've never seen more food on one table in my life. The good news is I overcame my queasy stomach, and tried everything in sight (but the meat) and I loved it all, my first foray into the world of Korean cuisine.

Saturday's totals:
mile 1: 9:30
mile 2: 11:04
mile 3: 10:47
mile 4: 11:34
mile 5: 10:42
mile 6: 11:03

One raspberry scone
One gatorade
One accelerade
Seaweed salad, bip 'n bop (?), edamame, miso, and lots of other yummy stuff that I can't pronounce and don't know what it is. All I know is: it cured what ailed me, and it was GOOD.

Now bounce on over to someone's site and wish her Happy Birthday!

For the Black Knight

Yeah, I know, Tour de France, running, training, etc. But let me take you away from all that for a few minutes. Just close your eyes, hit play (or, err, vice versa), and you gotta admit this is one sexy song (which if you leave your eyes open, then you will see Brian Ferry, and that kind of takes the wind outta the whole experience):




Even better is Bill Murray's hilarious karaoke:



What a pair, eh?

New York City Half-Mary, Anyone?

I got this e-mail today, and I can't use it because of the whole running 13.1 mile thing, but maybe you can? If so, drop me a line immediately and I'll forward it on to you.

*Special Invitation to Past Runners*

The RUN FOR AUTISM has a limited number of unused entries available for the New York City Half Marathon on August 5, 2007.

As a thank you for your past support, OAR would like to offer you the opportunity to compete in the race.

New York Road Runners will close their registration tomorrow, Thursday, July 26, 2007, at 3:00 PM EST. If you are interested in being part of the event, please let us know immediately by calling Doug Marocco at 703-472-0752.

Your cost is only the $75.00 entry fee that will require a sign up directly with NYRR on Thursday. An email with the registration link will be sent to you by email.

If you are not participating in another event in 2007 with RUN FOR AUTISM and would like to fundraise for this event that would be appreciated.


The RUN Staff
Doug Marocco
Director of RUN FOR AUTISM
dmarocco@researchautism.org
Cell: 703-472-0752

Geoff Pan
Run Coordinator
gpan@researchautism.org
Office: (703) 243-9710 x 224

Don't forget to check out our FAQ online!

Rockville Twilighter: A View From the Front

This fellow is a wee bit faster than me and has a terrific report up about the Rockville 8k.

Have I said enough about this race yet? Should we move on?

OK, I'll move on. Soon. I promise.

Stay tuned.

More thrills, chills and spills to come.

Eats, Drives, and Runs

Saturday was an action-packed day here at Not Born to Run headquarters.

At 8 a.m. I met the D.C. Road Runners Ten-Mile group at the Lincoln Memorial. Since our group's coach was out of town, I had agreed to take the slow runners out for a 3- mile loop around the Washington Monument and the reflecting pool.

I was kind of dreading it because I thought if I run slow, then I'll be running slow. And will never get fast. One slow run will do that to you, you know.

But! It. Was. Awesome. Turns out, I know stuff about learning how to run. 'Twasn't so long ago that I was walk/running (hmm, actually I think it was last week!) My group ran probably between 11-12:30 min miles. I ran back and forth and kept up a non-stop litany of advice, encouragement and jokes. My reward? Everyone ran, no one walked, and one deranged person actually told me that I gave great pep talks.

Who knew?

Around 9:30 I headed back to the car to drive home (yes, same car with the cracked thing that's going to blow any minute) and called Bex to doublecheck that we were leaving town at 11:30 to visit Susie and David in Fredericksburg. Ding! Wrong. Turns out we (and by "we" I mean "Bex") had planned to arrive in F'burg at 11:30. F'burg is about 45 minutes south of D.C., which meant we had to leave Bex's by 10:45. I'm about 30 minutes north of Bex—by car. Do the math.

We were a little late.

But we had a great visit with Susie and David, had lunch, chatted about this and that, Bex's move, weddings, travel, jobs and kids. A good time.

(L-R: Bex, Susie, moi. Photo, unbeknownst to her, courtesy Bex.)

We had planned on getting back to D.C. by 3, but that was looking iffy since we didn't leave Fredericksburg 'til 3:30. Bex dropped me at the King St. Station and two Metros and a bus later, I was home by 7 p.m.

Which was a really good thing, since the Rockville Twilighter 8k started at 8:45 and registration closed at 8 p.m. and I had cleverly not pre-registered.

By this point in the day I had eaten: oatmeal (plain!) for breakfast, a veggie burger for lunch, followed by a double iced espresso mocha something. (Did I mention I haven't had caffeine, in oh, 12 years or so?) This was my doping scheme.

For the rest of my nutrition, I ate two pieces of bread and drank some water. Oatmeal, veggie burger, espresso, bread, water. Got it?

The Race

The first and last time I ran this race was July 17, 2005. It was one of my first races and I remember being a nervous wreck for about a week beforehand. What a difference two years makes. I also remember a Giant Hill that I had to walk up not once but twice.

Since I was early I milled around and noticed a Starbuck's cart handing out some strange espresso concoction with raspberries on top. Score! More caffeine.

Blah blah, we were off! I had my usual race goals: Don't be last and don't walk. Oh, and this was going to be simply a training run, with no racing at all. Of that I was certain.

This is such a fun race. You're surrounded by a few thousand strangers running with you through a quiet suburban neighborhood. The neighbors line the streets, cheering, and spraying the runners with garden hoses. The runners get to watch the sun set, and then run in the dark.

I hooked up with a guy (wow, I never thought I'd be writing that in a race report!) for miles 1 and 2. He worked in a bike store, so we talked bikes for a while. He was laboring but I wasn't. The course is gently rolling and I kept waiting for that big hill, thinking I should hold back for it. I remembered Peter telling me during our 5k to "glide downhill" and pump my arms on the uphills. I FLEW on the downhills and maintained on the uphills. I kept waiting for the Giant Hill that I just KNEW was waiting for me and would reduce me to walking.


I lost Bike Guy after a nice downhill somewhere around mile 2, right around when I decided I was going to race this thing as if my life depended on it.

Mile 3 I thought I could pick it up and I stopped dreading the Giant Hill. I started passing people. What a great feeling! People started walking.

I don't know what happened in mile 4. Apparently my watch stopped. Or, possibly I got worried about finishing strong and slowed down. And there was no Giant Hill. Anywhere.

Mile .97 I flew. I pushed myself. I'd been playing cat and mouse with an older gentleman (yes, my competition consists of old men, people in casts, and children—I take what I can get), and I decided I was taking him down if it was the last thing I ever did. I remembered Laurie saying it's supposed to hurt. I passed the geezer. I passed one chick who was starting to fade and I felt myself wanting to encourage her, but instead made the decision to focus on ME. Screw her! I felt bad for about 1/2 second, but I wanted to give it all I had and I thought this was no place to be thinking about anyone else. Something inside me just clicked.

A volunteer called out: "only 200 feet left, just like halfway around a track" and I picked it up even more, and flew through the chute.

I was elated. I had no idea what my time was but for the first time, I. Loved. Racing. Loved it!! I wanted to call up everyone I knew and tell them but alas, no one was around. Or no one who would actually care.

Except you guys:

The stats:

Rockville Twilighter 8k, July 21, 2007, age 50
Unofficial time: 53:08 (10:41 min./mile) 51/76

mile 1: 11:00
mile 2: 10:52
mile 3: 10:31
mile 4: 11:11 (no no no no no)
mile .97: 9:32 (yes yes yes yes yes!)

Rockville Twilighter, July 17, 2005, age 48: 58:18 (11:44 min./miles) 60/69

PR: St. Patrick's Day 8K, March 12, 2006, age 49: 52:28 (10:34 min./miles) 80/113

Stop, Drop, and Donate!

Remember this chick? Who made us laugh our asses off, went to Alaska, ran a marathon, didn't like her time, so ran another one and then kicked its ass? Then, went off to Senegal. C'mon, you remember. The chick who inspired me to write this silly little blog.

And if you don't remember, or you came late to the par-tay, then take the phone off the hook, put your feet up, and go start at the beginning and read 26.2 Miles Vs. Naomi right through to the end, right this minute.

Anyhoo, Ms. Naomi, aka noames, still in Senegal, now a wildly popular and widely published journalist, needs some help.

And when Naomi calls for help, people, I sit up and listen, and you should too!

So I'm happy to get the word out, Noames.

Noames has a friend, Marie-Suzanne, who needs help.

Here is the lovely Marie-Suzanne:



Noames says:

After the umpteenth girl from her village got pregnant (and had a baby daddy drama) she decided something needed to be done. She is organizing a safe sex/anti-AIDS workshop in her village next month, to coincide with a big festival in her village which everyone attends, even if they've moved to the city.

And here is Marie-Suzanne's request in her own words:

My name is Marie-Suzanne Seck. I live in Mont Rolland, a village in the Thies region. I am twenty years old.

I have found that the girls in my village are not very aware of AIDS and early pregnancy. I want to do a workshop for this in August, because all the young people are there for a festival. I am writing to ask for help.

In my village, I know 15-year-old girls who have gotten pregnant. At 15, you have many boyfriends and you do not know which one got you pregnant. If you say to one that it was him, he will say it wasn't me. If you say to another, he'll say it wasn't me. And then you will be obligated to raise the baby on your own. Sometimes the family understands, sometimes they don't.

As for AIDS, I had the idea because we did an anti-AIDS workshop one time in Mont Rolland for that, and I thought to myself that we should organize many to help young people and speak to them about illnesses.

For the activities, I would like, first of all, that the young people discuss together. Afterwards, I want to have two skits, one for AIDS, one for youth pregancy. After that, we will pose questions, and if someone gets it right, we will give them a present (for example, a condom, or a ticket for a dance night that we are organizing that night). We will also have some singers. I have asked a friend to
write two songs: one for AIDS, one for youth pregnancy.

The evening, I want to have a dance party for the young people to encourage them to come. It will be free for everyone who came for the day's activities. If someone else would like to come, they will have to pay 500 CFA (about $1).

I have already reserved the hall and I have started to organize the details. But I don't have enough money to do it all. I have compiled a budget, and in all, the workshop and party will cost about $200. I hope that you could help.

So that's the pitch. And the total amount needed for this shindig??? $200!!! So five bucks a piece! I happen to know that another rockin' blogger (I mean besides me) has posted this appeal and has already raised 2/3 of the amount needed.

And that is unacceptable people, because we must win!!!

So, if you'd like to help...do this:

Just go to your PayPal account, hit "send money," put in Naomi's e-mail address, which is
naomims AT gmail DOT com
type in your amount, click on "For GOODS" as opposed to the other options (otherwise PayPal will take out 12 percent of your donation) and... "badaboom. your good samaritan act for the day is complete!!!"

A.J. says it's easy. So go give it a whirl.

And, since A.J. ended her post this way, that means that I have to too:
If you're dying to know what's up with me, here ya go:
I've been playing with facebook.
My car is still dead and that state of affairs is not working out for me, at all.
My bathroom ceiling finally fell in, but upstairs tenant's landlord might actually pay for part of renovating the whole bathroom.
I have to come up 5K for NOD's last year of school.
I am leading (stop laughing) the slow runners on tomorrow's run.
I'm having brunch with some newlyweds and this rockin' chick tomorrow afternoon, AND
I think I'm going to run this tomorrow night. Maybe. We'll see.

Glory Days

I was never an athlete. Not in elementary school. Not in middle school, and certainly not in high school where I actually earned my only "D"—in gym class. And when I say "earned," I mean earned. I mean, you really have to work hard to get a "D" in gym. It's not like any idiot can do it. I fondly recall skipping out on gym to do fun stuff like drive with my other hip friends to McDonalds in my little fluorescent orange austin america to flip french fries on the hood and watch the birds gobble them up.

Does it get any better than that?

Yet I read about many of you who, after lounging through your 20s, 30s and 40s decide to "get back into" sports. Some of you were serious high school or college athletes (you know who you are!). And I get jealous. And think to myself, self? What were you doing all that time?!

I get jealous because, well, I'm shallow. Plus, I think: "Oh well sure, it's easy to get back INTO something after a 20-year-hiatus" or "I wish I had a base like that to build on." (Yes, I seriously think like this.)

Well, I can partially—OK, largely—blame the culture and the decades in which I came of age for my lack of athleticism. I went to elementary school in the 60s, where sports for girls were nonexistent (unless you count dodgeball, an activity which has now been banned at many schools for being harmful to children's self-esteem—see this blog, exhibit A); an inner city middle school during the height of forced busing (sports took a back seat to daily chaos); and an all-girls Catholic high school in the 70s. My high school—Sacred Heart Academy—had great basketball and volleyball teams, and I should have been a shoo-in for either due to my height (5'9") but I was too cool for sports. I was so in I was out.

I worked three jobs to get through college (yes in the snow), but even if I hadn't I don't think sports would have been on my agenda, though I do remember seeing the girls' crew team recruiting and thinking that would be fun. (I was obviously clueless.)

In my 20s and 30s I always tried to exercise but it was half-hearted and I would never have dreamed of calling myself an athlete.

Do I have a point?

Hang on, I'm getting there!

This little reminiscence wrote itself as I listened to the latest episode of my favorite podcast, Phedippidations, episode #105, "Running Over 50." And as I listened (which if you are over or even near 50 you should definitely check it out, and whatever age you should subscribe because this is a seriously great podcast), I had a little epiphany and it went like this: that THESE are my glory days, right now, right here—that they're still before me, not behind me.

All thanks to being a slacker in high school!

I have things to look forward to! Running things! Sports things! And no matter how crappy I'm running right now, I know that I'm building toward something, I'm working toward something. It might not come today (uh, definitely not today), or tomorrow (got that right), or even a year from now.

See? With age comes wisdom.

I suppose it's possible I could quit this whole running thing, as I have threatened to many times, but I don't think I will. I mean, I hate the actual running part as my loyal readers well know, but the other parts? Like the blogging part? And the racing part? And the people I've met part? And the "afterglow" part? These are what I think the (psychiatric) literature calls the "secondary rewards" of an activity. I like these things and I don't want to give them up.

So, in celebration of my glory days, I have started afresh with another running program, the D.C. Road Runners Ten Mile Program, led by this guy, culminating in this race in October.

And even though I tried to run six miles on Sunday and it felt like oh, six million, take it from me: there is glory in the trying.

My pace group, part of the Ten Mile Group.

I Hate Everyone*

I had yet another root canal today.

And yesterday? My friendly mechanic told me my car needed $2,300 in repairs. That's on top of the $2,300 I paid him LAST MONTH, when I said, as I handed over the dough, "Now before I invest this much, are you sure this car won't need any other GIANT repairs anytime soon? Because if it might, if there's even the SLIGHTEST chance, then maybe I should NOT have all this work done now."

It's just like talking to the dentist!

I think if I went into this garage for a flat tire, they'd charge me $2,300.

It's a blown gasket, whatever that means. I practically blew a gasket. So, what to do? Throw more money down the rabbit hole, cuz it's still cheaper than a car payment? I don't want more debt, I just paid off this car loan. I could buy a Vespa, my secret desire.



Although I'm pretty sure I'd be run over by a suburban Bethesda Mom in her Hummer, latte in one hand, cell phone in another, lipstick in the third.

And to top everything off, because of that stupid root canal, I missed the chance tonight to meet the Rich Hungarian Older Gentleman my girlfriend has been trying to set me up with for months!

Calling Tom and Ray.

*Except everyone reading this, of course.

Now for Something Completely Different

Go read this alternative account of my little July 4 5K.

It's so hard to be objective about oneself. Always nice to get a view from the outside.

OOPS: Link updated to the actual, correct link.

I CAN Run!

My trusty reliable coach, in a supreme sacrifice, gave up his own PR and paced me to a race PR in today's challenging and HILLY CAN (Cure Autism Now) 5k.

I've done this race three years in a row, so it's great to see progress:

2005: AGE:48
TIME: 34:41 (11:10/min. miles)

2006: AGE:49
TIME: 33:42 (10:51)

July 4, 2007, AGE: 50
TIME: 32:18 (10:24)

Peter was a great pacer. I felt like Lance at NYC. He gave me a running (ha) supply of tips like "lengthen your stride," and "pump your arms" on the uphills, and "glide" on the downhills, and my personal favorite, "relax."

I grunted and said things like "Story!" which, translated, meant: tell me a story to take my mind off this. And he complied, talking about his recent relay doing 10 miles straight uphill at high altitude at Lake Tahoe. He was, however, forbidden from saying the "h" word. We don't say "hills." Ever. Got it?

He did insist on no headphones though. And you know what? That was actually nice. It does tend to make one focus.

Things were going swell the first two miles. Piece of cake! And then, eh, I had to walk a few times. But I do think I ran up every hill. And the finish is a lovely long beautiful downhill.

I still thought I would croak, throw up or pass out at the finish. (Number One Daughter accuses me of being "such a dramatic finisher." As if.) NOD also ran this morning, but gave strict instructions that we were NOT allowed to talk to her or say "good job" to or acknowledge her in any way whatsoever on the course, not even, she said, "If I pass out"). She told me afterwards that she saw me shoving little kids out of my way and that I remminded her of George Costanza trying to get out of the burning apartment. Funny, I don't remember doing any such thing.

Damn kids!

Peter has the official splits, but he said they were something like:
9:55
10:02
12:20 (ugh)

And for more comparison, (it's all about the numbers) I looked up the only other 5k I did this year, on New Year's Day, with zero training, and fewer hills:

33:01 (10:38 min. mile)

So, even though this wasn't a lifetime PR (that would be the George Washington Parkway Classic 5k in 2006: 31:08 (10:08)) I AM SO TAKING IT!

My advice is: Everyone needs a good pacer!

And, there's more! NOD got herself a PR of: 29:40 (9:33 min. mile)! Her time last year: 32:14 (10:22).

So there's some strange exchange taking place between me and NOD as I had practically the same time this year as she did last year. Hmm.

I'm off to the beach for two days of craziness. Yoga classes. Sleeping. Reading. You know, my usual hijinks.



Thanks Peter!

I Know a Secret

So, when last we left out heroines they were planning on visiting Hain's Point early Saturday morning for a 4.8 mile run. Turns out that NOD's idea of early is a little different from my idea of early, so we got there at 8:45, or in other words, practically the middle of the day.

We had planned on parking next to the Awakening, but were thwarted by heavy duty plywood gates blocking our way. No admittance for us! Seriously, I could have breached these defenses with, well, with nothing!

NOD marched right up to a park ranger and asked "what up?" He said, "Oh, we store the fireworks for the 4th of July back here." Um, thanks. Speak up, cuz I don't think the the terrorists caught that. (P.S. This is the secret to which the title alludes. However, as of tonight, it's now OK to tell secrets in this town!)

This town. It make-a me crazy!

I figured I would just run the other way, around the tidal basin for 25 minutes and back, since my instructions were to run 4.8 miles in around 55 min. Close enough.

So out I trudged, NOD trudging behind me. Her goal was 15 min out and back. I started circling the basin when an old familiar urge starting making itself known.

Yes, again.

But no problem, there were about 10,000 portapotties set up in preparation for the fourth of July festivities. I dashed to the first set. Locked. Second set. Locked.

WHAT IS IT WITH THIS TOWN?!? Tell any yahoo who asks where the explosives are stored, but lock all the portapotties. That'll teach 'em. Teach us. Teach somebody.

I had no choice, found a clump of bushes and some very large leaves and ... etc.

NOD later remarked that she thought it was a bit odd that I think everyone should wear gloves and I hate touching the escalator railing in Metro for fear of germs, but have no problem dropping trou and using leaves in the middle of busy Ohio Drive in downtown D.C.

I don't see any inconsistency, do you??

Anywho, I ran some distance equalling 50 minutes but it felt slow and sluggish. NOD and I topped off the morning people watching from our favorite Capitol Hill coffeeshop, and wandering around the remains of Eastern Market.

All in all, a fine fine day.

Sunday was a rest day and I managed to go out and overeat with some friends Sunday night, including drinking a real drink and having insomnia all night because I slept all day because I didn't sleep Saturday night because the new tenant who lives below me threw an animal house party until 3 a.m. Complete with live barfing over the balcony railing.

My life is very complicated.

So this morning, Monday, I "awoke" (can you awake if you never slept?) at 5:40 in a deep dark black mood.

But, as Ms. Susie taught me waaay back at the start of this running odyssey, if it wasn't for the bad runs we'd never appreciate the good ones, right?

I went into automrunmode and did this:
10:30
10:40
10:22

I don't pretend to understand. I just hope I haven't peaked too soon. Cuz I got me a race to run!