Three years ago, I started running on a whim, and I couldn't even make the 2 mile loop around the block without walking. I vividly remember run/walking 2.62 miles on the first anniversary of the marathon bombings in 2014, which was the longest distance I had ever completed to date.
And here I am.
The weeks leading up to yesterday's race were rough. I logged the long miles, but doubted myself each step of the way. I ran in snow, rain, in 50 degree weather, in 80 degree weather, and even on a treadmill, but wondered how prepared I was. I dreamed about the race. I mentioned it to anyone I talked to, really. Like somehow if I told as many people as possible, I would be held accountable to actually do it. I freaked out. I felt sick. I was excited. Then nauseous. I was in denial of hard it would be. I accepted that it would take me however long it took me. I furiously calculated every possibly finish time in my head based how I thought each section of the race would go. I was driving myself nuts. Ok, I was driving everyone nuts!
By the time I got to the starting line, I had calmed down. I had a plan, to go out slow for the first 3 miles or so. I kept checking my pace, and I was going too fast. I tried to slow down. I told myself, run the first 5k through then stop for water. 3 miles passed, 4 miles passed, then 5....where the hell was this water stop?! Just after the 5-mile marker, I took a brief water break. I crushed the first 6 miles, honestly. I was feeling strong AF. And it was at that moment that I became acutely aware of what was actually going on and how much further I needed to go. I had somehow forgotten this was an actual half marathon and now I could not escape. (I was also very aware of a blister forming...I never get blisters in training, but they love fucking with me on race day.) I took a few more walk/water breaks, but finished as strongly as I could. I did not have the energy to sprint to the finish; I manged to raise my arms in victory with much, much effort. I was amazed I was still upright. Then I cried.
If you recall from my last long-distance race in June, I was overcome by a great deal of disappointment that led to a relatively long running rut. I dissected that race way way too much, when I should have been enjoying the moment. I promise I feel differently this time. But indulge me for a moment...
- I walked parts of it, more than I wanted or planned
- It was hard, like, really hard
- I went out too fast in the first half, and unraveled in the second
- I struggled, in training, and on race day
- I was slow
- I didn't run every step
- It took me longer than 2 hours-- the "acceptable" finish time*
- It doesn't count
(*according to some people on the interwebs)
If this sounds ridiculous, it's because IT IS RIDICULOUS. So let me dissect the positive.
- I FINISHED A HALF MARATHON
It totally counts and I totally earned that medal.
I'm taking a break, just to recover, but I'll keep running. Whether that means another half, something bigger, or my usual 5k circuit remains to be seen. For now, I am going to enjoy not being in training and getting back to running just for me.
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