3k race at the tidal basin yields surprising result!

So, B told me that today I could choose my poison -- either a 3k race at noon, or 10x400 relay tonight in Virginia. No fool I, I chose the 3k.

As you know, faithful reader, I have been training to run 8 minute miles. 3000 meters = 1.86411358 miles, as any decent google calculator will tell you. So, I should run it in about fifteen minutes, or a bit less. That was my goal.

We got down to the tidal basin in good time, warmed up, and got to the start -- very informal race, more a community building thing than anything serious. Maybe 60 people there? We go out, and around the FDR memorial, across the bridge, around the Jefferson memorial, and back to the starting line in a loop.

I'm pushing hard from the get go. I watch B and the lead group set out fast -- 6 or so people in that pack. I let a good amount of the pack go past, but I resist letting everyone fly by me, digging pretty deep in the first 1/4 mile to keep my spot until we get across a little one-person-wide bridge. Three people pass me here, and I am seriously sucking wind. I figure I am maybe 1/2 way through, but I don't know, because . . .

I didn't wear a watch -- on purpose. I had this sneaking suspicion that I have been allowing myself to settle for a pace that is near what I am told I should do -- the 8 minute mile thing -- instead of really just running as hard as I can. Short race, I figure, I can run fifteen minutes hard. Lets see what that turns out to be.

Two more people pass me, first a woman who had been riding my shoulder for a minute. I let her go, since I am struggling to find my breathing. Just when I settle into a rhythm that doesn't involve forcing my breath, a tall gentleman swings past me. I manage to stay with him for about a minute, but he slowly draws away from me. Now we're past the Jefferson memorial and coming into what I suspect must be the home stretch.

Yes -- I'm coming over a bridge, and I can see the starting line, around two curves and down a straightaway. And on my left, an man in a blue kit, pushing hard, passes me. I decide that isn't going to happen, and reel him in. We dance for about 20 seconds, jockeying around the curves.

We hit the straightaway and I hear someone coming up hard behind us. There's nothing and no one between me and the finish line but flat road, and I decide that's the way its going to be. From somewhere I find a kick, open up my stride and tear hell for leather down the stretch. I see B walking back from the finish line about here, and he yells something that I don't catch, but I interpret to be "Bring it in! You're going to make 15!" Ok, I think, hang on.

And I do -- coming across the finish line 26th. I am wiped -- I have left nothing on the track, and take a good two minutes just to catch my breath. The man in the blue kit comes over and says "nice finish." B tells me that I put about two meters between myself and them, and held it down the last 200m. I feel good. And then B tells me my time.

12:59.

Hruh? 12 minutes and 59 seconds. That works out to 6 minute 45 second miles -- 75 seconds faster, per mile, than I was hoping to run. Damn. I can tell you without fear of contradiction that I couldn't have held that pace for another mile, though. Not today. But . . . this time next year? Maybe I can turn this little 3k into a 10k in 47 minutes flat, and a marathon in 3 hours 40 minutes.

Bottom line? I felt good. I raced hard, and coach says I raced pretty smart, too, not kicking it in too early or too late. We're chalking this one up in the Win column.