That's what it feels like, at least.
I ran my first half marathon this morning. The Cincinnati Flying Pig. Queued up at 6:30am to run up hills, over bridges and past barber shop quartets. Being my first such race, any time, good or bad, becomes my personal best. Today I clocked my 13.1 miles in 1:37.59. Placed 225th out of 7353 total finishers.
Which, by my 5k (Best: 6.27/mile) and 10k (6.50/mile) standards, is not as consistent as I would hope (18k, 7.26/mile), but by any other standards, is a damn good time. Detailed results
here.
My technique is improving. My form has become more erect. Breathing now comes from the diaphragm with relative ease. I lean into my steps with greater efficiency. Still, I did myself no favors in exerting energy to push myself further when going downhill. Also, I ought to allow myself the confidence to run with my pace group, and not a bit behind it. Too: I will now allow myself the use of carb-supplements mid-race from the half-marathon on. Come mile twelve I was hurting.
I had hoped to run in DC in May, but my trip to the Capital City has been postponed to June, likely Pride weekend.