Listening to Iron Maiden, baby

So, I did it. I did my first half marathon. Yowza. Big smile.

First off, it ended up being a surreal weekend. Due to some very sad and unexpected ‘scheduling conflicts’ (namely, a funeral for someone who was way too young and way too healthy) I travelled to St. Louis by myself, instead of with my family. Well, actually, I travelled on the train with my coworkers – so not entirely by myself. But this was the first time I’ve been ‘alone’ for that amount of time since Em’s birth and it felt very – strange. Several times I thought ‘I wish my baby was here.’ Or, watching my coworker and her fiancé interact I’d feel as though, minus my husband, I was missing a limb. In a way I also felt very free and very “me” – me alone, without the accompaniments. But if I’d had my choice I would have liked to have had them with me. I’m sure Bob would have chosen to still be alive too.

I got off the train in Alton, IL instead of completing the trip to St. Louis. Visited my mom and aunt for a couple hours. I was supposed to be able to see them for several hours but, of course, the train experienced difficulties and we were almost 3 hours late. Annoying. But it was nice to see my family. I used to visit my aunt fairly regularly when I was in college and being with her again (sans family, sans my own transportation) I immediately felt about 20 years old again – a wandering dependant relying on generosity. That was unsettling. But seeing my grandmother’s old house/street was wonderful. I am very, very fond of my grandmother’s house. I regularly have dreams about walking through her house or the neighborhood. Alton is very hilly, and a number of the yards have stone ‘walls’ which, for a child, are right at eye/head level. In my dreams I’m often walking down a red brick street, alongside a low flagstone wall. Alton has a humid river smell; in my mind it’s always hot. My aunt’s magnolia tree was just starting to bloom.

Coincidentally, my husband was back in his childhood neighborhood as well, visiting with friends and family for the wake/funeral. So we both took trips into the past this weekend.

After my stop-over in Alton, I went on to St. Louis and did the necessary things such as check in to my hotel and pick up my race packet. The hotel room was easily one of the nicest rooms I’ve stayed in and I was sad my family missed it. The night before the race a big group of us (coworkers, coworker’s family, coworkers’ friends) went out for Italian and carb-ed up. The food was delicious and super duper plentiful. I think we packed up as much as we consumed. If I hadn’t had to be very conscious about what I was consuming, I’d have pigged out on the four-cheese ravioli. Wow, that was yummy. Dinner unfortunately though lasted a little longer than we racers would have liked, and by the time it was done we all pretty much just collapsed in our respective beds.

The morning of the race I woke up before 6 to the sick, sludgy feeling of angry butterflies in my tummy. I hated to admit it, but I was terrified. I am not, and never have been, a ‘physical’ person. Aside from T-ball as an extremely young child, I’ve never participated in sports. I’m uncoordinated, non-athletic. Running has left me breathless since puberty. The one and only thing I can do is walk, and I’ve no doubt in my ability to walk at a decent pace for miles and miles. (When I was pregnant and swollen in the height of summer I lost my endurance for walking as well, and that depressed me more than I can say). So I knew that, barring any unexpected tragedies, I’d be able to walk the race no problem. What I feared, however, was the unexpected – anything which might cause me to finish in a ridiculously lengthy time – or worse yet not finish at all. Over and over I envisioned my coworkers crossing the finish line, while I lagged miles behind. I pictured myself, flaming with embarrassment, being loaded into an ambulance, suffering from acute I-don’t-know-what-itis, calling my husband to inform him I’d barely crawled to mile 8. My fears ate at my energy.

So, I had a very firm talk with myself. (I later learned at least 2 of my coworkers had done nearly the same thing). “Listen body,” I said. “You are going to do this walk. So knock off the damn butterflies, you don’t have energy to burn. You’re going to get out there, and do what you’ve been able to do since you were 1 – you are going to walk walk walk, and you’re going to keep walking until the course is done, and you’re going to stop conjuring up stupid fears.” I reminded by body that, previously, I’d called upon my brain to get me through events like the ACT’s or particularly difficult finals, and that now it was my body’s turn to show up and deliver. If Brain had come through, Body damn well better do the same.

At around 6:30 I went downstairs and met one of my coworkers, and we headed over to the race. As we walked through the crowd to take our place at the start line, it started hitting me that WE were among the crowd that the early morning spectators were about to watch. As the announcer and city officials pepped up the gathered athletes, WE were among the group addressed. I felt somewhat ridiculous in my athletic-wear ‘costume’ but I could also feel my determination kicking in. I had, after all, trained diligently for this for the past 12 weeks. I had as much right to be there as anyone. I was going to, in my own way and at my own pace, kick this race’s ass.

We found our other coworkers and aligned ourselves with a pace group. My goal, at that point, was to complete a 3 hour race, which seemed aggressive but possibly do-able, assuming I worked really hard. The starting gun sounded and . . . . eventually we crossed the start line. Half marathon walkers are dead last in the pecking order to begin the race. It is our job to make ample room for the real athletes. Which means that it took up more than 10 minutes to make it up to and past the giant flag denoting the start line – which was fine. I was happy to be just face in a giant crowd, reassured by the thought that no one was looking at me.

Our group jostled past people who were pacing slower than us, and tucked in with our ‘3 hour’ group. After a few hundred feet we realized that the pace leader was running intervals – a couple minutes walk, followed by a couple minutes run. Soon a coworker and I developed our own interval pace and left the rest of the group (including the pacers) behind. We figured we’d move at our own stride until our motivation wavered, at which time we’d fall back in with the pace group, assuming they’d caught up with us.

I don’t have much to say about the first part of the course. The day was beautiful – cool and perfectly clear. You could easily move through the weather without feeling sticky or overheated. The beginning course was mostly level and I fell in to watching the people around us and chatting. The first 4 miles – which to me counted as the true ‘start’ of the race – passed almost unnoticed. The first 6 miles were amazingly easy. My friend and I did pulse checks/body checks and by mile 6 neither of us was sore or tired. Our feet were happy, our legs felt fine, and we’d settled into a good, steady pace of run/walking. At mile 6 we were well ahead of the 90 minute mark, and I felt pleased we’d set ourselves up for a good pace to potentially beat the 3 hour goal.

Mile 7 to 8 was an incline – we erroneously thought the ONLY incline of the track. While it wasn’t awful, we could definitely feel the work in our calves and feet and I gratefully gulped down water near the 8 mile marker. Hitting mile 9 wasn’t too bad, but shortly past that marker we both realized that the race was starting to take its toll. One of my toes was blistering and my body was generally getting tired. 4 miles to go sounded like a sizable haul, but we’d been tracking ourselves at nearly 12 minute miles and our pride in that pace kept us going.

At mile 10 the track split off, with marathoners continuing on for the nearly second half of their journey, and us shorter distancers turning back towards the finish line. At about mile 8 ½ we’d seen the winner run (and I mean RUN) past us, following the pace car. At first we’d feared the slow moving squad car indicated that someone was in serious trouble further up the track, but shortly after it passed the crowd began cheering, and I realized we were watching the lead marathoner push towards home. This will sound ridiculous, but I almost believed I was watching some rare animal, some creature not quite human. My partner and I had been walking and jogging and knew we were pushing ourselves. This man was flying by us and had almost tripled our distance in the same amount of time. He was running faster than I can run over a short distance, and he’d kept that pace for 24 freaking miles. I have always been impressed by runners but at that moment I was jaw-droppingly amazed. I felt lucky to have the opportunity to watch him pass me.

Miles 11 and 12 had some unexpected hills, and we took advantage of running every flat surface and downhill that came our way. Mile 10 to mile 11 was nothing more than slugging it out. I was tired. The sun was bright and objects shined off the road up at me. If we walked for too long our legs tightened and hurt, but running up any hills seemed almost undoable. I kept chanting – just 2 more miles. During training, 2 miles was NOTHING. I regularly did 2 miles before bed and considered it a ‘light’ evening. I could do 2 miles. I could do it and grin. So I told myself as the fatigue pushed over me.

It was towards this point I realized – there was a serious mental component to this half marathon too. It was easy to keep going while my body felt fine. The day, as I said, was lovely. My friend and I cracked jokes with each other and with other runners. The scenery was interesting enough. I’d thought the only challenge was going to be physical – but once my body got tired I needed some mental reserves to kick in as well. My legs started protesting, wanting to stop. My feet needed a break. It was almost like my core was arguing that it was time to take a rest NOW and really, why was I putting myself through this anyway? What was the point? Just sit down and rest for goodness sake. Knock it off with the one-foot-in-front-of-the-other already. Come on now – knock it OFF. In order to overcome the loud aches and whiny objections, I really had to tuck in and not give up. Bully my legs into movement, and keep on pace in spite of wanting to just say – to hell with it all. I’m lucky I’m so freaking stubborn.

Hitting mile 12 – while heading up hill – was a good feeling. By this point spectators and runners who had already completed their race were lined on the sidewalk, forcefully cheering us on. “It’s all downhill soon!” they yelled. Of all of the wonderful people who cheered us on, I will distinctly remember two of them. One was a woman around mile 7 who yelled out “I am so proud of you!” She was calling it indiscriminately to anyone who passed by, but at the moment she said it I realized it was something I wanted to hear. I knew I had family and friends who were proud of me and many had told me so. But, unfortunately, they were not there to tell me in person as I huffed along. She was. And she said it so earnestly, I believed her. A big motivator for this event was that I wanted my daughter to be proud of me. She’s too little to say it, though. But I’ll elect to believe that this kind stranger expressed the sentiment for her. The second cheerleader I’ll remember was a young man who was standing along the sidelines during mile 12. He had completed his race and his medal hung around his neck. He was standing with a group of friends or family. As I dragged myself uphill, silently cursing the race planners, he caught my eye and yelled “just get to the flag and it goes downhill!” The flag he was referring to was over our starting line – the finish line was just beyond. The flag looked ridiculously far away, but it could only have been a quarter of a mile at the very most – likely much less than that. I wanted to reply that I would simply never EVER get to the flag, but I realized that this kid knew what he was talking about, terrain-wise, and that he seemed to think I COULD reach the flag, so in order to reward his enthusiasm I decided to keep going. I also recognized how happy he looked, now that he was done with the race. He was happy and kind enough to hang around and cheer others on. That struck me as generous.

My friend and I reached the top of the hill and, almost simultaneously, the mile 26 marker. Now, a full marathon is 26.2 miles. A half marathon is 13.1. So, there is a shorter distance between the mile 13 marker for half marathoners and the finish line than there is between the mile 26 marker used in the full marathon and the finish line. In other words, the mile 26 marker precedes for one for mile 13. It goes – (Category) FULL: Mile 26 – only .2 miles until the end! Then (Category) HALF: Mile 13 – only .1 miles until the end! So when we hit the sign for mile 26, we still had .1 miles to go before completing our 13th (last and final) mile.

My friend received a shot of energy from the mile 26 sign. “Let’s run!!!” she exclaimed. I tried. I really did. But I couldn’t - not quite yet. I told her to go on, which lead to a brief discussion where I insisted that no, really, she needed to go on and I’d see her at the finish line. I think I disappointed her slightly but at that moment I did not have it in me to run again.

However, hitting mile 13 was a different story. At that point I ran, which required almost all of my remaining energy, but I did it – running all the way to the finish line. I ended up boxed in behind another runner since I did not have the stamina or speed to break around her, but that was fine.

As I approached the finish line the large time clock – noting the time elapsed since the starting pistol had fired - read 2:57:something. Or, approximately 3 minutes under the 3 hour mark. The enthusiastic announcer, in an attempt to both praise and psych up the runners, was chanting “under three!!!!” Meaning “congratulations, you finished your race in less than 3 hours.” His voice boomed “under three! Under three! Under three!” And then it truly hit me – I was actually, unbelievably, honestly going to finish my first half marathon in less than 3 hours. And not only less than 3 hours MY time (i.e. the time tracked by the chip on my shoe) but less than 3 hours GUN time, which meant closer to 2:45 hours since I personally had begun the race. Only in my wildest imaginings had I actually been able to complete the race in less than 180 minutes. Doing it in 165(ish) was just – crazy. Insane. Not something of which I’d ever believed myself capable.

In my exhausted haze, I looked at the clock, looked at the finish line now roughly 20 feet ahead, and wondered (as I ran), ‘oh my, can I make it all that way in 3 minutes?’ The rational part of my brain responded that yes, idiot, I could cross 20 feet in 3 minutes. I could probably do it crawling backwards, if I had to.

I crossed the finish line, found my friend who had crossed 15 seconds before me, and slammed several cups of water in a row. I was awarded my shiny medal, accepting it as though I were a real athlete. Rather than simply handing our medals to us, the volunteer placed them over our bowed heads – a nice touch. Then, I crossed over to a small patch of grass so I would be out of the way of other finishers, and called my husband. He’d sent me a message just a couple minutes before saying ‘I bet you’re in the home stretch now.’ I think he was surprised to hear me say that I was already done.

Then, I cried. I’m a huge sap, and I was exhausted, and proud of myself. My husband was proud of me too, and in the background I could also hear my daughter yelling ‘yay!!!!’ So I think I got my wish, and that she was proud of me too.

The entire event was a wonderful experience. I had an incredible amount of fun. I’m grateful to my one coworker for mentioning it to me, and indebted to my other coworker for kicking my butt, particularly through the final 4 miles. I’ve registered for the Chicago Distance Classic in August, so I’ll have the opportunity to put my body (and brain) through these paces again. And overall I’m just happy and grateful, and so proud of taking advantage of this opportunity.