What I've Learned About Pacing Myself
On coaching myself to go slower and say 'no' more often
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Six years ago, I ran a 5k with a very cool—and very cruel—course.
The race starts in Wrightsville, a small town in York County, Pennsylvania, overlooking the Susquehanna River. The race takes you out of Wrightsville and across the river into the town of Columbia1 before you loop around, cross the river again, and charge back into Wrightsville.
The Susquehanna River is at its widest when the race crosses it, and the bridge is nearly a mile long. That means that about two-thirds of the 3.1-mile race is run out over the river. That's the cool part.
The cruel part occurs in the first quarter-mile and the last quarter-mile. When the race begins, the road almost immediately drops out from under you. You run down a negative 6%-10% grade—making it all but impossible to pace that first critical quarter-mile. That means you hit the flat of the bridge going faster than you probably should be. And by you, of course, I mean me.
With a bit of willpower, I maintained my faster-than-ideal pace across the bridge and back again. I was on track to shatter my personal best 5k time when I stepped off the bridge and back into York County for the finish. To be clear, my personal best wasn't very fast.
I'm sure you see what's coming.
To finish the race, I had to charge up the hill I started on.
The negative 6-10% grade turned into a positive 6-10% grade. It felt like running up the side of Everest. I held it together at first, only altering my pace a bit. And then, my legs turned to jelly. My heart beat like a hammer in my chest. For 30 seconds or so, I gave in. I walked.
As the hill crested and the finish line was maybe 100 feet in front of me, I broke back into a slow, labored jog. At least I knew I left it all out on the course!
I still beat my personal best. I even placed first in my age group, earning my first-ever medal. I wasn't upset about that short walk up the hill—all I could do was laugh at myself and my over-confidence.
I wasn't alone, of course. Everyone with me was either walking or barely shuffling along at a jog. I'm sure the fastest folks—who had crossed the finish line 10 minutes before—had probably charged up the hill. But us mortals? Nah, we could swallow our pride and walk out the worst of it.