A Year Later and I Still Hate Virtual Races

A year ago on March 8, 2020, I ran the Los Angeles Marathon — a stupid decision that several of my friends brought to my attention as such. But being the stubborn person I am, I flew out to the West Coast for my solo trip on the brink of a pandemic.

From then on, the racing world fell into a domino effect. New York City Half? Canceled. Boston? Canceled. London? Canceled. Every road and trail race was officially off the docket for the remainder of 2020. The spring training season we all worked so hard at was suddenly a wash — so what now?

Spring races — Boston and Paris, in particular — were then rescheduled to take place in September and runners had one of two options: try to secure your spot in the race operating at a smaller capacity than normal, or run it virtually at a date of your choosing.

Suddenly virtual races of every distance began popping up like daisies and were completely benign at first: simply sign up for free, log it via the race site or Strava, and get your virtual high five. Brian and I virtually ran 10 miles with a friend who trained for the Virginia Beach Marathon only to run it from Hoboken to Manhattan via the George Washington Bridge. (He finished under four hours. #thatswhatshesaid) We “ran” the Brooklyn Half with friends across the country; our homegrown race was (thankfully) equipped with crowd support and an aid station thanks to two friends visiting from Raleigh. I even held a “post-race brunch” for the NYRR Women’s Mini 10K, a race that I’ve been running almost every year with my gal pals for over a decade, via Zoom. I did the NYCRuns Subway Challenge and ran 245 miles (the entire length of the New York City subway system) well before the Labor Day finish line. I partook in the Corona Lisa Challenge and ran 100 miles in a month.

I began to despise the virtual race. It doesn’t compare. Just like Zoom and FaceTime happy hours, virtual race fatigue was real. When you aren’t receiving the same gratification as when you’re actually running an organized foot race with other runners, volunteers, and local crowd support — regardless of how big or small — the will to complete the task at hand suffers. It’s that simple.

These days I get emails for virtual races almost daily and immediately move them to the trash. Until one day when I received an email with the subject line reading the words “Shamrock Half Marathon,” click bait for this Irish girl. I read further — not only did the race fee give you a medal, it also gave you a race bib, hat, and a zip-up track jacket, all for $40.

Coming out of my injury and gaining speed made me want to push myself, so I crafted a four-week training plan — the shortest I’ve ever worked with — and made it work, hoping that I’d come out on the other side of the virtual race with less anger and hatred.

Here’s how it went:

I need a haircut.

The Return to Speed Work & Tempo

I love speed and tempo workouts, and in the first six months of the pandemic I would perform either or both of those at whim. One friend questioned why I was doing a set of 400s with zero race in sight while another called me both an overachiever and masochist when I decided to go out for a set of Yasso 800s. I just love the challenge — and I truly love going to bed early after a hard workout.

When I crafted my training plan, I decided to put myself in complete hell during week one with the aforementioned set of 800s at an exerted pace followed by alternating hard tempo miles just two days later. The 800s went faster than planned with my pace ranging from 6:46 to 6:55 per mile. (Kudos to me!) But by the time Thursday rolled around, I was feeling the pain. My exact words for the Thursday workout in the shared Google Excel spreadsheet with my two comrades who also partook in this four-week journey state, “BRUTAL, couldn’t even make it through the last mile.” Facts are facts and I’ve forgotten how to pace myself. 

Week two was just as rough, and this time included a workout from Coach EK that I dub the “Ladder Workout From Hell”: 400-800-1200-1600-1200-800-400 at a 6:50 pace with a 2:00-minute recovery between each set. I hit the first 400 in a 6:21 pace and decided to go with it, to hit each split between a 6:20-6:30 pace — it would be fine. This led to positive splits and quitting before my last 800 and 400 with my head hung in shame. 

I tried to complete the same ladder workout the following week. But due to a Covid scare and a very rich mocha I treated myself to prior to the workout, I ran at my leisure. Turns out if you’re not vying for a legit Boston qualifying time, you truly don’t give a fuck. 

We have a lot of Doritos in this house, and so they go on the charcuterie board.

The Church of the Long Run

There’s one problem with the virtual race long run: in normal times, unless you’re running a local race, courses are unfamiliar territory. Down here in Wilmington, QLP and I perform what we call, “The Boot” run to Porter’s Neck, which is a route that looks like that of an elf’s shoe. We have run this route countless times during the pandemic, and come race day, there would be no surprises — we would run The Boot.

By the time I hit my long run of week one, I was experiencing fatigue that I hadn’t experienced since over a year ago in the throes of LA training. (Again, shouldn’t have done that.) I ran said long run at a shockingly good pace, and so I treated myself to outdoor beverages with my parents, QLP, and one of my high school friends, didn’t eat dinner, and was successfully asleep by 8:00 p.m. 

Week two was by and large the same (and oddly enough at the same pace), and, again, was asleep with a belly full of wine by 8:30 p.m.

The Fucking Taper

No runner likes the taper. (Find me one who does and I’ll buy you dinner at a three-Michelin-starred restaurant literally anywhere.) 

And the virtual taper is so much worse — it’s just pure laziness. Running a virtual race means you don’t have to think about a personal record. You don’t have to think about a Boston qualifying time. You don’t have to think about anything about the actual race itself — period. Suddenly you’re back in your mid-20’s and drinking whatever is on special during Friday night happy hour (in 2020/2021, it’s whatever is in your fridge and/or bar cart), and eating anything and everything you can get your hands on (snacks like the pictured above Doritos and whatever pantry pasta you can whip up). 

I did all of those things. The night before the “race,” I successfully fueled on pasta with garlic, Parmesan, and red pepper flakes, as well as Doritos, cookies, and several, several glasses of Chardonnay. 

Do as I say, not as I do.

I honestly don’t have many pictures from the weekend due to those aforementioned bottles of Chardonnay. But I do have one of the post-race shrimp boil we feasted on. (Not pictured: more bottles of Chardonnay.)

The Race Itself

I’d like to say I went into “race day” feeling ready, but given what I just told you, that would be a big fat lie. 

I had absolutely zero desire to perform a long run of any kind that Saturday, and so I simply said “I’m not going to be a hero,” and would run the out-and-back Boot route and call it a day. 

That’s not exactly what happened. Instead, Brian and I took our sweet time getting out the door, making our race start time a casual 9:30 a.m. I loathed every step of the first few miles and, because it’s a virtual race, I kept giving myself every opportunity to bail. After all, I had friends (and an aid station) back at home readily available to come and pick me up should I want to quit. So I took each mile as it came, telling myself that I could turn around whenever I needed to, or bail altogether. 

And then the miles kept ticking off at the same pace my previous long runs had been — and that’s when I realized I could actually achieve some kind of personal record. I realize that a virtual PR is not the same as an actual PR. There’s a lot to account for, like dodging traffic and aid stations (read: friends passing you Gatorade through their car window). I had to do all of those things, specifically because our out-and-back route was on a winding road with fast traffic. 

I managed to set into a groove and block out the noise (Brian says I’ve gotten good at fueling my aggression towards shitbag boys into my running — whatever works!), and successfully stopped three times during the run for aid stations. My moving time for the Shamrock Run was 1:39:48, almost a two-minute PR for me. 

I know that’s not a true PR by running standards, but I really don’t care. I pushed myself harder in the past four weeks than I have in almost a year — and I’m proud of that. My homegrown aid station even had a tray of nachos ready for me at the finish line, something I didn’t even know I was getting with my $40 entry fee.

The Aftermath

Though I was sore after the “race,” I wasn’t as sore as I normally am after any given half marathon. That’s something I miss. 

There is so much I miss about the actual foot race. Pumping myself up with a particular set of jams, toeing the start line, continually learning how to pace myself, and meeting friends along the way — I so miss the in-person race. 

This will likely be my last virtual race, and even though I’m so glad I participated, I truly cannot wait to get back to the real thick of it. 

The afterparty will be tremendous.