cesimpson

Yesterday was the big race day. Master the Met. I’ve been writing about it and training for it the last several weeks. I set two goals - $100 raised for the American Lung Association and a sub-ten-minute time.

First, a super-huge thank you to everyone who contributed to the cause. Not only did I reach my $100 goal, but the local newspaper is reporting the event raised almost $200K for the American Lung Association.

Secondly, thanks for all your training help, race day tips, and well wishes.

I started the day with a bowl of oatmeal and a ton of water. It was a beautiful day yesterday in St. Louis. The weather was perfect. It was in the low 50s when I let the house around 8:00. High of 62°F at around 4:00. Awesome.

I made my way downtown, found the building, made my way inside. Checked in…and stood in line.

Eventually it came to be my turn, heart was pumping, kinda nervous. Had I trained enough? Had I trained correctly? Had I any idea what 42 flights of stairs is like?

GO!

I took off very strong - maybe a bit too strong. At floor 6 I realized I was WAY ahead of schedule. 33 seconds. Oh. Way too fast. Slow down. Calm.

I took the next 12 flights at a very steady 10 sec/flight pace. At floor 18 my legs were still holding up well, but my throat was super-dry. The air in the stairwell was very dry and un-circulated. It felt like I had been screaming at some rock concert or hockey game for the last three days straight. I was breathing pretty hard and my heart was thumping.

Can’t give up. Don’t let your time slip. At 18 I decided to push a little harder to floor 24. I picked up the pace and did those 6 flights in about 45 seconds.

There was a long hallway between flight 19 and 20, so that screwed up my timing. I wasn’t expecting it. My head was getting foggy. I didn’t know how to calculate for it. Threw me off my rhythm.

Flights 24 through 36 were the toughest. I tried to keep a steady 10 sec/flight pace, but it slipped. By the time I reached 36 I’m sure my pace was more like 15 sec/flight. Bad news.

At 36, I knew I had only 6 flights to go. I turned it on. Must sprint.

Took those flights as 3 stairs, 2 stairs, 3 stairs - all the way up. There was nobody else in that section of the stairwell, so I was able to 2-hand it on the rails - full body work every step.

At flight 41 there was a big sign pointing to “One More Flight To Go!!!” down another long hallway, through a door, down a shorter hallway, around a corner, through a service door to the final flight of steps.

Some jackass was sitting at the top taking pictures of me in my 42 flights of agony. I ran past him, into the ballroom and through the finish line.

…and collapsed.

It’s probably more accurate to say I found a quiet corner and laid down. Someone brought me a cup of water. I accepted with a slight nod and a thumbs-up. It took about 5 minutes before I was calm enough to drink it. My throat burned, I was sure it was bleeding. My heart finally dipped below about 75% MHR. I sat up and took some water. Ahhh…more.

That cup went down pretty easily, and so did the second. And the third. I eventually made my way over to the results table. Found my name.

7:48 !!!

The final results are posted on the local Fleet Feet store’s website. That’s nice of them.

You’ll see I took 7th in my age division. The winner of the 30-39 yr old men category took the stairs in 6:43 - a number that will stick in my mind over the next 12 months.

Thank you all for your contributions to the American Lung Association. I appreciate all of your help.