Most Epic Moment

How can you possibly ever put into words the entire epic-ness that is one of the single greatest moments of your life? I feel like the past two years have all lead me to this exact place, this exact moment, that exact single experience of true bliss.  The earth, the moon, the stars and the sun all aligned perfectly to provide me the coolest 2 hours 10 minutes of my life. Funny how I find such bliss and happiness in the solitude of running.

I should start by saying that on the Saturday before the half I had a really awesome 5k run. My feet felt light, and my body felt capable and ready. I was just going to run. And in the end resulted in my fastest 5k time to day. I think I finished at like 28 minutes 30 seconds or around there. Bottom line is I managed a 9:20 minute pace which is great for me.  So I was already feeling amazing. Then we spent the rest of the day in Santa Cruz on the beach boardwalk and it was wonderful and amazing and I was just so happy.

Based off of my 5k running secretly I wondered if it was possible to have a great half time. Chris kept saying things like, maybe you’ll PR. I laughed at him. The truth is my PR was set last February.  Back when I was running a lot more than I have been.  It was 2 hours 11 minutes and like 44 seconds or something like that.  I never came close to that again. After that, my time started to creep up and up. I quit caring as much. Times went to about 2 hours 18 minutes, and then they shifted to about 2 hours 28 minutes. I just couldn’t muster much desire to push myself. Not really sure why.  Last weekend I actually ran a 2 hour 19 minute half and I was excited about that. It never occurred to me I could ever come close to PR’ing again. In fact I honestly truly thought I’d never ever see a PR again in my life. I just wasn’t at that speed.

It was hot. Like hotter than I think anyone expected. I was really nervous about the heat and apparently so were the event organizers because they sent out an email the day before telling us all how to prepare for the heat and all the precautions they were going to take on course to help us runners. Let me tell you I did not feel like running. Before we started I was completely unsure how I was going to feel.  But then a funny thing ususally happens. I start running, and somehow after a couple minutes, once my heart rate elevates and then levels out, I feel great. So I ran. And I kept checking my watch telling me my pace. After all things had settled out I was running consistently at a 9:35-9:40 pace. But more importantly I felt good, and this was a comfortable pace for me so I thought I might be able to keep running this for a while.

I had a lot of inner dialogue going on. Somewhere around mile 3 when I looked down and saw my pace and knew I felt good, I actually starting visualizing what it might be like to finish the race with a PR. What it would actually mean today, on that particular day of all days, October 5, my true official 2 year WW anniversary. And for no reason I wanted to cry. I felt pride. And excitement. That maybe, just maybe, I could PR. But I tried to not get too far ahead of myself, considering it was only mile 3, and I had a lot of miles left to go. I REALLY did. But I kept running and thinking. The first hour was quite pleasant. The heat hadn’t picked up too much. It was warm, but bearable. And because you never know exactly what you are going to get with running, sometimes things strike you at odd times. And I guess because of the whole idea of the anniversary of my recommitment, I started thinking about the past.

I found myself thinking about my dad. It felt odd that suddenly I felt overcome with feelings about my dad. I guess it’s because of his own weight issues that I will always feel some sort of weird connection about health surrounding my dad. I remember once we had a conversation about how he swore it didn’t matter if you were healthy and active or overweight and unhealthy because when it was your time, it was your time. He had a friend he told me who was a marathon runner who dropped dead of a heart attack at the age of like 40 something. In hindsight these were the excuses he told himself to make himself feel better about his own life and I guess that is okay.  That is what he needed. But deep down, I know he was hurting.

And then I was thinking about how sad it is that my dad never got to see this, to see me, living this life. In my trip down memory lane I had this moment of clarity where I thought, it is so sad that my dad never got to see me become that athlete that I am today. And then I paused on the word athlete. And then I went, yes, you know what, Emily… you ARE an athlete. You have become a full-fledged athlete and your dad would be proud. I am sure he never thought he’d have an athlete daughter and yet, here I am. And in the midst of all of this inner dialogue I wanted to burst into tears.  And then as clear as day I envisioned myself crossing that finish line with a PR and how it would feel to accomplish something so special today and I just kept running.

Overall it was a pretty emotional race for me. 2 years to the day. As I ran I thought about myself 2 years ago on this day, not even the inkling of what was to come. I thought about the girl I was, at 220 pounds, scared and afraid to live. The girl who believed she could be more.  And I ran. And I just kept running, solidly at the same pace and before I knew it 5 miles, 6 miles, 7 miles had passed. And I thought that a PR was closer than ever. It was somehow, miraculously, within my grasps. But it started to get HOT. And of course with the sun and running comes a lot of dehydration and fear. Fear that I would tire out and or my body would give out. But I was prepared. I kept drinking the water at every station while I tried to run on. I did not want to slow down to drink because holy hell I was on a PR pace.

In hindsight, at some point early on I think I had mentally decided that I was going to have a PR, come hell or high water today and nothing was going to stop me. I think half of running, actually more than half, is mental. It’s simply being crazy enough to believe that you can.  Knowing that my determination is stronger than any physical force holding me down.

Around mile 9 I picked up a rock in my shoe, or the bottom of my foot that I couldn’t shake loose. I didn’t want to stop, but I felt it every step so I had to pull off to the side for a brief second to yank it out. Turned out, it wasn’t a rock, but instead a giant shard of broken glass. Glad I actually stopped to take care of that.  But getting going again is tough after you stop, even for only a few seconds.

My speed started to slow down. I kept telling myself as long as I can keep my average pace under 10 minute miles I will be on track to PR. I knew as long as I was 2 hours 10 minute something I would have bettered my old PR. But secretly I was being greedy and wanted under 2 hours 10 minutes. I was so close. But it got HARD. It got HOT. And mile 11 was all mental. Just keep running. Mile 11 might have bene the hardest mile of them all. Simply because it was close to done, but not close enough. Mile 12 was better because once I hit 12.1; every step made it less than a mile to the finish. Somehow knowing you just have a mile to go is glorious.

I was probably moving at a snail’s pace, but in all actuality it was still around a 10 minute mile pace. It just felt like an eternity. The seconds ticked on. We rounded a corner and I saw the finish line in the distance.  2 tenths of a mile to go and I knew I had a shot at the less than 2 hours 10 minute mark. I saw my watch and saw it tick over to 2 hours 9 minutes and I saw the finish line and I sprinted. I was like Fuck it, just RUN… muster up every single ounce of crazy you have left and finish in less than 2 hours 10 minutes. And I sprinted like my life depended on it. And I crossed that line under the 2 hour 20 minute mark and pretty much almost immediately had to fight back the tears. The tears of joy and happiness. Sure, to the average person my time wasn’t that impressive or great, certainly nothing life altering, but for me it was the symbol of everything I have been thru the past 2 years and I literally wiped the tears from my face.

I cannot describe in words what it felt like in those couple moments after crossing the line and having a PR, when you had no idea you had that inside of you.  The pride I felt. The concept of setting a goal early on and not letting it go, finishing what you started. BEST FEELING EVER. Seriously one of the single coolest moments of my entire life.  This is what running does for me.  It gives me something nothing else possibly can. It is my sanity. My health. My happiness. My release. My sense of self. That moment is going to be hard to ever top. I might have other PR’s in my life. I might not. Doesn’t really matter. But having that PR on my 2 year anniversary to the day, while in San Jose, living this amazing life that I could never have imagined. That is magical. That is what this is all about anyway.

And to give you an idea of how crappy the heat might have been. Chris was on track to PR himself, he might have been running too fast honestly, because around mile 8 he passed out. I wasn’t around him, but apparently he passed out into the bushes and he woken up by other people around him offering him water and helping him. SCARY stuff. He walked after that, and did not PR, but still had a great finish time despite passing out. I am glad I didn’t see if because it would have freaked me out big time. Also so incredibly grateful there were people around willing to stop their own runs to help him out. Runners are good people.

That race is a memory I will treasure forever, and that really is the point of all this after all.