I had one New Year’s resolution this year: learn to run. I started with a very vague understanding of the theory and the physiology behind it all. In the past few months, I’ve cleared more than a few milestones: my first five, seven, ten and thirteen-mile runs EVER, my first thirty-mile week, etc. But last Sunday, I competed in my first official running event: the 2008 Philadelphia Broad Street Run.

The BSR is a dead-flat ten mile run through the heart of Philadelphia. There’s nothing tricky about it whatsoever. You start five miles north of City Hall… and you run ten miles due south to the Naval Yard. Yep, it’s that simple.

Anyway, a few of my friends from college had decided to do the run, and I’d been doing a lot of running myself, so I decided to sign up. I wasn’t sure what to expect. None of my training had been done at any kind of significant pace. My friends, by comparison, were talking split times and race strategy. Yeah, I was a little bit intimidated.

Twenty-two thousand people started the event. Yep, that’s right: 22,000.  It’s a big number.  I started running with Tyson who was aiming for a 75-80 minute finish time. We were moving at a relatively fast clip through the first few miles, though I’m sure we spent a bit of extra energy simply trying to navigate around the thousands of runners who weren’t keeping up with our pace. Once the field opened up a bit, we were able to stretch our legs a bit. Not only that, but we were moving.  We came in under 24 minutes at the three mile-mark – my fastest three miles ever.  If I hadn’t felt so great, I would have been worried about holding that kind of pace across the remaining seven miles.  I thought I’d have to let Tyson go off on his own.

To my surprise, I was able to hold that pace. And another surprise: Tyson wasn’t! He faded around the seventh mile. I slurped down one of those gel packets and hit the final stretch as hard as I could. Sure, aches and pains were starting to creep into my knees and ankles, but by God was I going to give this finish everything I had.

When I finally crossed the line, the race clock read 1:15:40. A bit of quick division tells me that’s roughly 7:34 per mile – almost a full ninety seconds faster per mile than my typical training run!

I went into this race thinking myself the slowest runner in the world. And I surprised the hell out of myself. That race went so well that I’m already itching for another… and that’s something I never would have imagined myself saying six months ago.

It was an interesting weekend.  I managed to imbibe entirely too much liquor during the day-long St. Patrick’s Day celebration on Friday.  There were a ridiculous number of people in Savannah this weekend and if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I probably would never have believed it.  River Street, a quaint, pub-lined riverwalk, filled to overflowing with more than 5,000 festive partygoers!  The parade route was lined – six people deep in places – for more than five miles and lasted more than five hours.  Not only that, but every little square and scrap of grass had been claimed by someone’s tent, kegorator and makeshift tailgate.

It was a sight to see!

Saturday night was even more interesting: those same 5,000 folks returned for another night of River Street debauchery – and were greeted by a power outage.  Yep, the entire city of Savannah blacked out (literally, not figuratively) before 11 PM and the power wasn’t restored until 8:10 AM the next morning!  I sat with Alex and his housemates on their porch and watched a spectacular lightning display and listened to the seeminly endless sound of sirens.  I don’t know what went down on River Street that night, but I bet it was a pretty frightening place to be.

Before that whole business with the blackout, I managed to run nine miles.  That may not sound too impressive to all you track stars out there, but it’s one hell of a personal victory.  Ten miles next week!

Anyway, not only did I run nine miles, I ran them outside.  Savannah has a gorgeous park called Forsythe, the perimeter of which is almost exactly one mile around.  The run felt great – well paced, not too hard on the knees – until the final lap.  That’s when the heat (it was warmer than 75 degrees and humid) and my lack of hydration started to get to me.  There were a few moments during that last mile that I definitely thought I’d have to pull over… but I managed to perservere.

I probably should’ve pulled over, though, because I spent the remainder of the evening trying to recover.  It was almost like a forced hangover – I felt so dehydrated, my stomach was a mess, and I had spells of nausea.  Mental note: figure out a way to drink more [water] during those long, hot runs!

One-hundred and fifty minutes of running over three workdays. Thank God tomorrow’s an off day, because this morning was rough. My legs are definitely hurting. Remind me to stretch tonight!

Monday was a long, sixty minute run.  Yesterday was only 45, but it was a quicker-than-normal 45.  Today was supposed to be intervals.  I did them, but I didn’t do them well – my legs were just too tight this morning.  I had the hardest time getting warmed up.

In related news, I’m deeply saddened by the state in which I currently reside for choosing the wrong democratic candidate last night.   Sigh.  I don’t know what that party thinks they’re doing, but I may have to vote for John McCain after all.