Saturday morning I woke up and went to the gym despite it not entirely being something that I was completely feeling. But I went. I did an hour of turbo kick and then an hour of boot camp which was really just heavy strength training. I was tired by the time it was done and was ready to go home. I showered, and then spent the afternoon running around doing shopping errands with my husband. I was pretty exhausted by the end of the day. It was a good day overall. We had a nice spaghetti dinner to carbo load for yesterday morning.
Now onto the half marathon. There is something infinitely crazy about people who choose to wake up 2 hours earlier than normal on a Sunday morning to drive for an hour to pay a decent amount of money to run. Our alarm went off at 5:30 AM. This is probably not that early for most people but normally we don’t get until 7:30. We were up, getting dressed and freezing. Thankfully the race didn’t actually start until 9 AM, so I knew I had ample time to officially wake up. I was dressed, had eaten some oatmeal and stumbling into the car about 6:15 AM. We had an hour plus drive to get to the race.
The race was a point to point race. This means that we started at one location and ended at a different location 13.1 miles away. This is opposed to an out and back which is more common where the start and finish are the same location and you run out a path for half the distance and at some point either loop around or turn around and run back the other half distance finishing exactly where you started. The only logistical problem with a point to point race is that your vehicle can only either be at the start or the finish. Most races accommodate for this and shuttle you. In this instance we parked at the end location and awaited a school bus to take us to the starting point. I have not been on a school bus since high school. It was instantly a flood of memories and I felt like I was in a bizarre-o land because I racked my brain for comprehension of my last bus ride it occurred to me that it was traveling on weekends for high school speech tournaments. I was such a nerd. Obviously it was an academic endeavor because God knows I was not athletic growing up. But honestly I wouldn’t trade my amazing speech memories for anything. Good times.
My bizarre-o land comes from the fact that I was sandwiched on this bus full of very athletic adults who paid money on a Sunday to run. It is a humbling moment to realize that while you’ve never fully considered yourself a runner, at what point do you have to reassess that thinking? I mean, this was a smaller local race, in the end I believe about 330 runners total. And here I was, one of them, taking a bus ride on a cold morning to a starting point. Does this not really make me a runner? Can’t I really say, that no matter how fast I am running, I clearly must be a real official runner?
Nonetheless, there I was, freezing cold but the sun was peeking out like it was going to be making its appearance shortly, jumping up and down to stay warm, getting ready to run 13.1 miles. Some days I have to lie to myself when I am starting to run. I lie to myself in the sense that I don’t tell myself I am going to be running for 2 hours 15 minutes. I just tell myself I am going to go for a little run and try and enjoy the moments I am in. I lie to myself and just say that it doesn’t matter what happens out there, just get to the finish line. This is a lie because it does matter to me how I get to the finish line. I don’t feel good about myself or the run unless I give it my best effort. My best effort doesn’t require perfection but it does require that I give all that I have on that particular day.
There is something very interesting and mental about standing around and waiting for a race to begin, those 30 minute prior where you are inside your head, for me most of the time trying to convince myself that I really do want to do this, that any amount of tired I feel will wash away the moment I start running. That just showing up is my *win*.
Mostly yesterday I contemplated that the last half I ran was the disastrous Lincoln City Monsoon. Am going to call it a monsoon whether it officially was or not. Despite all of my best efforts to accept the horrible conditions of that race and feel proud that I just finished, which I am, truly, I cannot shake the feeling of fear I had going into yesterday because I was uncertain of my abilities. During Lincoln City I gave up. Yes, the conditions were awful, but I quit running and just walked, fast sure, but it was still a walk. That kind of stuff plays with your mind. This is part of the reason that both Chris and I thought it was a good idea to get another run in before San Francisco so clear our heads of that horrible half. I was having a yucky taste left in my mouth because of Lincoln City so I wanted to have a better, I can do it, feeling leading up to San Francisco. Of course, as I stood at the start line in anticipation of this race, horrible fear overcame me. What if I can’t? What if Lincoln City was the first step in the eventual decline of my abilities? What if all the lack of training is catching up with me? What if I am just getting worse at this? Yup, these are all very real fears that I have.
So this race I decided to wear gloves. I knew eventually I would have to take them off as the sun came out, but for the start my fingers were little ice cubes and I needed them. What I did not entirely anticipate was that when the starting gun went off and I began to run, the gloves made it impossible for me to start my run tracker app on my phone which started my music. What resulted was a horrific start to my race. I had to take the glove off and hold it in my hand which having to pull my phone out of its arm band to start it up and get it going. Then I dropped my glove. I stopped running to bend down and pick it up and could see the onslaught of runners coming for me. It was scary. I fumbled. I quickly shoved the phone back into my armband but then it was all jacked on my arm. I ran a little bit more, flustered. It took me about a mile and a half to calm down, and readjust all of my gear. My phone was finally in its place, I had to yank my pants up repeatedly to get them in the correct comfortable location and then I could finally calm down into my groove.
I am not a fast runner. I have said this on many occasions. Of the 300 plus runners who are clearly active runners who get up and run a random small half, I am definitely in the back 40 of them. That is okay. I am running for myself. Hell, I am running period and that is better than all the other people who didn’t even show up to run a race. Once I settled into my pace I felt good. I was not exerting myself, I was just running. I felt good. I felt like I was just going for a run.
I should mention that the first 2-4 miles of a half are my least favorite. Of any of them including the last 3.1. It’s because it takes me a while to get into my groove and to get over the initial I don’t want to run. Once I find my momentum and my body adjusts I can just run from there on out. It’s the first little bit that is always the challenge for me. It never fails, when I hit 3.1 miles, the first 5k, I always tell myself, great 5k down, 10 freaking miles to go. It is a particularly horrific milestone and one that I must document, as per ritual. The passing of the 3.1 mark. 10 miles to go. My favorite miles are always 4-9 or thereabouts, when I am in my groove and things feel good and I am just running for the enjoyment of running. This is the place where my mental head clearing takes place. Where I find my peace and rhythm. Where I can let go and just enjoy it for what it is. This was a nice course and particularly pretty running next to a river at points.
The race itself had decent support and despite the low number of participants, I was pretty much running with the same group of about 4-5 people most of the way, therefore I never felt “alone” on the road, which was nice. In Lincoln City and a few of the other races I did feel all alone which kind of sucks. I guess while I consider running a completely solo sport, I don’t want to be completely alone either. For me, I get a ton of motivation by seeing people on the sides of the roads. I just perform better when I think someone else is watching, even if they aren’t. This is probably why I like the Rock and Roll races. There is never a dull moment with them. I am certainly never alone in those either. I think the abundance of runners pretty much sees to that.
Once I hit mile 10, my second milestone kicks in. Now I ONLY have 3.1 miles to go. Now it’s just a little 5k left. Of course it’s a 5K after I’ve ran 10 miles and there’s pretty much nothing simple about that. To claim that running 13.1 is easy for anyone is a completely injustice. It is hard. It is exhausting. This is what I have concluded, running 13.1 miles does not physically hurt my body. It does not leave me huffing and puffing and out of breath, it does not wind me or cause me pain, but it does EXHAUST me. My energy level is depleted and I am tired. That is the end result. I just get exhausted. I am fine afterwards, but around mile 10 my brain wants to quit more than my body. I am tired and I just want to walk because my brain says it’s tired, my body honestly can still physically manage. It’s an interesting mix of mental and physical.
I have always professed that what I love about running and especially longer distances is that it more mental than anything else. It is convincing yourself to keep going when your brain is telling you to stop. It is a constant battle between the brain and the heart. I like the challenge and I like walking way victorious. The last 3.1 miles are hard. I think not as awful as the first 3.1, because you have such a far way to go at the beginning but the last 3.1 you know is the last and you are almost done. But at that point you are more exhausted so it’s more difficult. But once I hit the 10 mile mark, I know I am going to finish, and that the end is near. It’s all about pushing thru that last little bit.
This is the end result of this race. I ran every step. So Lincoln City, the previous run, was truly a situation of circumstance not an overall inability to run for that long. I ran every step. I did not run fast. There were hills. More hills than I had anticipated, but also a good challenge given San Francisco is coming up and that puppy is LOADED with hills. I did not have a great time for me, but it was not awful either. 2 hours 18 minutes or thereabouts. Not by best, not my worst. In line with what I can do. I will take it. What’s more important is that I ran every step and allowed myself to enjoy parts of the run. To just get lost in my mental haze of running.
This is what I know. I love running for what it gives me. Sure it is fabulous exercise but that is not why I run. I run because it provides a mental peace that I need in my life. It seems natural to me that since I have given up running daily as torture and instead partake in a rich and varied gym life, that my mind would seek out these organized runs to keep me running and keep that sense of happiness alive. I can experience true running happiness because I no longer use it as a torture mechanism for myself. It is all about a blissful happy experience. It is the thing that makes me feel the best about myself and the most accomplished.
I cannot express to you what happens in my mind the minute I see the finish line in sight. That moment when I run across the line and am presented with my medal. Pure joy. Pure pride. I did it. And that feeling never goes away. I don’t care how many I have run, that feeling is the same every time, because it is never easy and I earn every single one of them. I guess I am a runner, right? I guess I do deserve to be on that athletic bus.
At some point during the run I found myself smiling because I thought, wow, I am in a class of real sick puppies who pay money to run in the cold on an early Sunday morning. This is my idea of a good time. Holy shit, who does this crap? I do. I really seem to repeatedly do this crap.
And so begins what is going to be an epic, crazy summer of running. I have these races like every 2 weeks because that’s just the kind of girl I am. I am really feeling very happy and blessed right now. You can get all crazy and stressed about your weight, or how you look or what you eat etc, etc., but in the end, why the hell did you want to be healthy to begin with? Why did you want to lose weight or eat better? To live a more full and active life, right? Well guess what, I am doing that…. I am living my best life right now and that is exactly the reason that I ever wanted to lose weight. To have these amazing experiences. To feel content and complete. To grow and share and experience life. I am doing that. I am doing that in this imperfect body, with this extra skin and all, with fat still on my body, with less than perfect this and that. Who the hell cares…. I am imperfect and in living with the imperfections find beauty in what I am capable of.
Two weeks to San Francisco, where I will undoubtedly have an epic experience. I am VERY excited for that one. This is my life. And I am proving that there is always hope and the ability to readjust whatever course you are on. The smile on my face says it all. I am beyond proud of the life I am living. This is my peace and clarity. I am a runner. That is who I have always been.
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