I want to write about how great my trip to Stockholm was. How fun it was to spend time getting pedicures with Maggie; how nice it was to meet my new teammate Bridget for the first time and know after a 20 minute run that we’ll get along; how intimidatingly gorgeous the Swedish women are and how glad I am that I don’t have to walk among them daily; how I worked up the guts to sit with my track hero Carolina Kluft at lunch and got through a 30 minute conversation only having peed my pants a little bit.
And if I could spend the next 20 minutes writing about those things, it would present a much more accurate picture of my Stockholm experience as a whole. But the sucky thing is, I can’t. Its been two days, yet my mind keeps wandering back to the race the way fingernails subconsciously gravitate to a mosquito bite.
There was another pacer from Poland as well, and she was meant to take the first mile and then I was to take over to 2k or as far as I could go. We coordinated our efforts for 68.5’s and went for it. Poland went for extra credit through 2k, and I took it another 200 meters. When I stepped off the track, we were within a second of world record pace.
And then they immediately slowed to 71’s, 72’s, 74’s.
Poland and I stood on the sidelines and watched the carnage. The track was like a battlefield with bodies strewn all over the place, our fast early pace effectively eliminating all of Defar’s competition save one (Bekele). Bekele and one 16 year old Kenyan set PR’s but everyone else had that “oh man that was a long race” look on their faces. No one else set so much as a season best.
I left the track happy with my physical effort, since it showed I’m ready to run a decent 5k this coming weekend, but other than that, I was a bit down.
Some Swedish dancing was in order to perk me back up.
It worked. Mostly.