As I set out for another run around Jamaica Pond in Boston, there was a little more spring in my step than usual.  It was the week leading up to Millrose, and I had been staying with my sister since the New Balance Indoor Games at the Armory.  After two sub-par 4:32 mile performances, I had an unsatisfied taste in my mouth.  Not to mention after having watched the American Record set in the 3,000 at Boston, I knew that the bar had been raised for female US distance runners.  My stride matched the quick rhythm of the music from my iPod as my mind drifted to the challenge set before me this weekend.  I wanted to be part of the momentum going on in American distance running, I wanted to come away from a race without the “coulda woulda shoulda”… and I knew that would take one thing- winning the 3,000 meters at the Millrose Games. 
           
Even as my thoughts swirled around the upcoming race, the rational part of my brain protested, “But Dibaba is in your race! Did you not see her set the world record in the 5,000m race last weekend?  That’s almost a minute faster than your PR!”  I tuned this voice out with Ryan’s voice instead, “Anyone is beatable because everyone has good days and bad days”.  I secretly hoped it would be an off day for her.
            Taking the train into New York, I was joined by Ryan who had fortunately flown out for a press conference.  It was great to be reunited after 2 weeks, and we looked forward to going to the Gala dinner in the Rainbow Room together the night before the race.  After searching last minute for a pair of shoes that wouldn’t kill my feet (it was the night before the race, after all), we took the elevator up to the top of Rockefeller Center and enjoyed quite a night!  Most of the athletes that had been inducted into the Millrose Hall of Fame had come back to celebrate the meet’s 100th Anniversary, and the evening really made me appreciate the history behind what I was about to take part in.  After hearing Mary Slaney talk about running the mile after flying in from Australia the day before, I convinced myself that if she could win after that, then the cold I was fighting off was not a big deal.  I enjoyed meeting new people in the “running world” throughout the night, though my voice was so raspy it was barely audible.  And the dinner was quite an event… I hoped that my 16 oz. filet mignon sufficed as a pre-race meal!
           
The day of the race ironically passed slowly yet quickly, as it always does with night races.  I headed over with Jen and we dropped our stuff, opting to warm up outside in the rain.  We joked about this and that and planned to go get New York-style pizza and sundaes at the world famous Serendipity Three after the race.  Heading inside, I saw Dibaba and the other Ethiopian girl jogging around slowly.  It never seems like they warm up as intensely as we Americans do!  In the call area, Dibaba was looking around at the four other competitors with a stern expression on her face.  Basically, she was staring us down.  I tried to get up the nerve to stare right back, but chickened out, smiling to myself as I put on my spikes.  That just isn’t me, I don’t run to beat people, I run to do my best and use others to get the most out of myself.
           
As we stripped off our sweats, I couldn’t help but notice that my legs felt swollen, as if full of water, a feeling I sometimes get when I’m overly hydrated.  It’s amazing how after the hundreds of races I’ve done, I still wonder what foods will sit well and how much to drink the day of the race!  Oh well, it’s over now, here we go!  I said a quick prayer, stepped up to the line, and we were off… 21 laps!
           
I got out well, right behind the rabbit, but soon I saw someone come up next to me, commanding the inside.  I glanced to the side and saw it was Dibaba, so I didn’t mind letting her cut in, and glued my eyes to the back of her top.  The small track didn’t seem that weird to run on, nor the banks overly high, and I just tried to relax as much as possible.  The rabbit went out just as planned, clocking 69-70 for the first lap and finishing the thousand in 2:55.  After paying attention to that, I vowed not to look at the clock or the lap counter again.  From here on out, it didn’t matter, I was going for the win and was going to stick to her as long as I could.  Unfortunately, I heard someone shouting “4:40, 4:41” and knew that we were still on a quick pace through the mile.  After that, the only voice I heard was Ryan’s, and it had taken on the crazed tone that it rarely does- only when he’s really excited!  He was pounding on something and yelling at me, “you’re gonna do it, you got this one!”  It made me excited to hear him, and as we went round and round I still felt comfortable and I began to believe I really could win this race! 
           
This fantasy was strengthened with every glance she made over her shoulder and the increasingly anxious tone in her coach’s voice as he shouted to her in their dialect. As the hurt started to creep in, I tried to picture a rope tied around her waist that was pulling me along each lap and telling myself, “You’re gonna do it Sara, get excited!”  Just before the third lap, the imaginary rope snapped as Dibaba surged right before the finish line.  I tried to muster a response, but the gap kept growing.  “Less than 400 meters to go!”, I tried to tell myself, now aware of the lap counter, but it felt like so much longer considering the number of laps.  I hurled my body forward, limbs flailing and breathing getting more and more spastic, until I crossed the line and stopped, not a step further!  A runner finishing behind me knocked me a little bit and my legs collapsed, and I found myself on my hands and knees, gasping.  After being helped off the track, I knew I looked like a drama queen, but I didn’t care- I was spent, and my asthmatic breathing was not getting me the oxygen I so desperately needed!
            
After an unnecessary trip to the med tent, a brief cool down, and puking up a quart of water in drug testing (I knew I had over-hydrated!), I finally felt better.  I needed to get in some mileage, so I sent Ryan and Jen ahead in a cab while I ran to the pizzeria.  As I ran along Time Square, dodging people and marveling at the dizzying lights above me, I knew I had just run a race I will never forget.  I knew the next time I raced Dibaba; I would look at her differently, not as someone who was a multiple world record holder and world champion, but as just another competitor who can be beat.  Maybe she was just toying with me that night, but I have come away from the race with a greater ability to picture myself running with the best in the world.  And that’s the first step- before you can be the best, you have to be able to picture it and believe you can do it.  And that night in New York gave me a small snapshot.