I am not a natural runner. I like to run the occasional 5k, but mostly because
1. it's usually for a good, charitable cause that I believe in
2. I can wear a tu-tu
3. I like people standing on the streets cheering me on as I run by. It motivates me.
I've said it before and I will continue to preach this message - if my neighbors would all come outside in the morning as I run by and cheer me on, I would TOTALLY become a more active runner.
But they don't. So mostly I hit the snooze button, then curse myself the rest of the day for not getting my exercise out of the way earlier. It's really all my neighbors fault.
When this whole running 13 miles thing came about, it involved a few glasses of wine, as most poorly made decisions do. My friend was talked into it and decided it was something we should suffer through together. Conveniently, she fractured her foot a few weeks before and wasn't able to run the race.
I did actually train for this run. For months. I got out at least three days a week, more often five or six. I recruited friends to run the race with me. I found other friends to cheer me on from afar, offering me advice and tips as the event got closer.
On the day of the race, I ended up running the entire damn thing alone. None of my friends were able to make it, for a variety of reasons. The people I caravaned with ended up in "corrals" closer together, and farther from me. But listening to them all talk about how they hadn't trained at all, I felt like I could probably catch up to them at some point.
I was in corral 45. Of 47. Which meant that, though the "competitive runners" started at 7:00, my corral didn't get to cross the start line until after some of the half marathoners had FINISHED. The first runner finished in 1:06 (for real!!! That ... I just am amazed). I didn't get to start until after 8:20 (which, for those of you bad at math, would be about 15 minutes after the first runner finished). I had cooled down by that point; I had mentally psyched myself out in completely the wrong direction.
But I managed to cross the start line with a smile, and not much trepidation. When I hit the 5k mark, I was feeling pretty good. Even at the 10k mark I was doing okay. By the 15k mark, not so much. I took a picture of the 15k sign, texted it to my friend (the one with the broken foot, the one who started this whole damn thing) with the message 'I hate you'.
About the 11 mile mark my iPod died. Physically, I was hurting. I could barely lift my legs. Emotionally I was spent, I was my own worst enemy, telling myself I couldn't do it. I didn't have anything left in me. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. Then I'd watch a marathoner run past me, and feel like a complete failure for wanting to give up.
When I crossed the finish line, I was expecting some sort of euphoric high. Angels singing, the clouds parting, some sort of weight lifted off my shoulders. Maybe even a pinata filled with little bottles of liquor.
Nothing.
I pretty much just wanted to dissolve into a puddle. The group I was with, they had all finished about an hour before me (remember, they started way before me too, in an earlier corral). They were chatty and sort of recovered and ready to go. So off we went, to lunch. I was still shaking.
In the car, we all got our times (via text, they'd been posted online). All of them, this group that hadn't trained, beat me by at least 30 minutes, if not more. I was feeling pretty bad about myself.
When I finally got hold of my husband at lunch, I dissolved into tears. I cried in the shower when I got home. I cried again, trying to find the energy to get dressed after my shower. This surprised me the most, all this emotion oozing out of me. All day long (actually, from about mile 10.5), I kept saying to myself, and everyone who asked me, "I will never do this again."
In hind site, I was obviously not ready. I should have listened to myself, more than my crew of people telling me I could do it. I should have done more research on the effect a distance run has on you, I was totally unprepared for that. It pretty much sucked.
So I learned a few lessons that I want to share with those of you crazy enough to want to run a (half) marathon.
1. Marathoners are serious runners. No tu-tus. Bummer.
2. Bring a protein bar or two to eat during the race. About mile 8 I ran out of energy and started to shake (I have hypoglycemia, this should have occurred to me). Afterwards, I heard from many runners that they felt the same way, but had brought their own snacks in their fancy little running belts. Who knew those were for a purpose.
3. Do the math. If you are in corral 45, and the race info says they will be starting in waves, wake up, warm up and eat accordingly. You will not be starting at 7:00, there is no need to get up at 4:30, to be at the race by 6:00. And also, if you have asthma, take your inhaler accordingly. Asthma attacks along the course are not cool.
4. Do not run a distance race alone. It sucks, and you turn into your own worst enemy.
5. Make sure you have a posse of people to hug you as you cross the finish line. You will need some love. You will need that moment to relish in what you've just done.
6. Make sure your iPod will keep a charge for several hours.
7. The serious runners discard their clothing along the way. Seriously. People come along with garbage bags to collect all the clothing and donate them to charity. Apparently, marathoners also have lots of money, because running clothes are freaking expensive.
So that's it. It's over now, and though I still don't have that sense of pride I expected, I have happily checked "distance run" off my life list.
Now I am on to the next race - a nice little community 5k. A race with crowds of people lining the course, runners in crazy outfits, and people not so intent on the competitive aspect of running, as much as the community aspect of being together and doing something good.
I'll be in a tu-tu, of course.
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