5 days ago, I ran my first half marathon, and…
That’s really all I can say, even 5 days later. Just… wow.
I mean, I had an inkling that I’d be forever changed by this experience, but I really had no idea how fundamental the change would be. More on that later.
I mentioned it in my “last long run” post, but these 13.1 miles really and truly were a celebration.
To be perfectly honest, I don’t really want to give a mile-by-mile recap. It just doesn’t feel right. What I will say is that despite the rain, despite the lack of pre-race “taking care of business,” if you will, despite not consuming anything other than water whatsoever during the race, for fear of moving “things” along, despite the dreaded hills in miles 5-9, despite the last 2 miles of “don’t poop your pants, don’t poop your pants…”
I did it.
I basically did everything wrong.
And yet somehow, the miles cruised by, and before I knew it, I was 8 miles in, having taken zero walking breaks, and nearly at the top of the hills, thinking “Really?! Mile 8?! When did THAT happen?”
Of course, then mile 11 slapped me in the face, and I walked a bit more than I intended. But as soon as I passed mile 12, I ran it home hard, crossing the finish line in…
2 hours, 30 minutes, and 39 seconds.
Remember that “OMG, I’ll be a rockstar if I finish in 2:30” goal?
Well, apparently, I underestimated myself.
I think, to a certain extent, I’m still processing this whole experience. Immediately following the race, all I could think of was “find a bathroom, find a bathroom, get some calories, find a bathroom.” I won’t lie, for a few minutes there, all I could think of was how miserable I was – sopping wet, a little achy, and in desperate need of a bathroom. I wondered if I really ever wanted to do this again, much less TWICE this.
Of course, once I relieved myself, all of those feelings subsided, and all I could think about was doing this again… and soon. I was hungry in so many delicious ways. Running 26.2 miles still seemed almost impossible… but 5 months ago, running 13.1 miles was also an impossibility. My feelings about the word impossible are shifting, these days. Again, more on that later.
I spent an afternoon chatting about this with a friend who unfortunately couldn’t run the Flying Pig this year. She was super proud of me, and it was good to talk it out. I still can’t believe how GREAT I felt after the race, and by that I mean my legs NEVER got sore. My lower back was definitely feeling it, but even the next day, I thought, “I could run 3 or 4 miles today.” I didn’t of course, but still. I ran 3 miles yesterday in 31 minutes and barely broke a sweat.
My friend says that that means I trained well, and that I’m ready to start training for the marathon.
I have a few more days off from a training plan, and then…