My first half marathon!

After lots of training, worrying, praying, I ran my first half marathon this morning. I was planning on just doing the Cowtown Half this winter, but the FWRC made its November race a half, so I figured I’d give it a shot. I ran 10 miles on my treadmill a few weeks ago and had a handful of fairly strong runs after that, so I figured I was prepared enough to at least finish the race, even if I had to take a few walking breaks.

I always say that the first three miles are the hardest for me. Whenever I do a long run on my treadmill, it’s the first handful of miles that seem to drag on and on. After that, I’m usually good to go.

This does not apply to the half marathon, just so you know.

It was a chilly morning, but not unbearable. The cold doesn’t really bother me much after I get about half a mile behind me and that held true today. I really had no idea how this was going to go down. Had I properly trained? Was this going to be much easier than I was telling myself it was going to be? Is this the stupidest idea I’ve ever had? The answers were something along the lines of sort of, hell no, and maybe.

Once the race started, most of the pack was way ahead of us. Fortunately, that is pretty much how every race starts out for me, so I’m accustomed to bringing up the rear. The first handful of miles went pretty smooth; I was enjoying some sweet jams on my iPod, John was there next to me humming along to Lady GaGa, and I was getting warmed up and actually enjoying the cool weather.

Somewhere around mile 4 or 5 my left ankle started bothering me. This was one of my fears about running this far. I usually end up with a sore ankle or knee or muscle and it’s a different one every time. We were taking it fairly easy, running 12 to 13-minute miles. All I could do was try to focus on controlling my breathing and attempt to think about anything but the pain. We both really wanted to run a consistent race and not have to resort to taking walk breaks. So far, so good.

I started struggling around mile 6, which didn’t do much for my state of mind. Some guy at a water station asked me if I was okay and was I going to keep going. Huh? Did I look that bad? Sheesh, that wasn’t much of a pick-me-up. Usually, the water stations give you half a cup of Gatorade and a half-hearted cheer. They’re usually manned by a pack of teenagers who look like they would rather be pretty much anywhere else. “…good job…*golf clap*...keep going...” I think Ben Stein could have done a better job of showing some enthusiasm.

When I got to about mile 7, the pain in my ankle either subsided or got drowned out by the screaming in my leg muscles. It was really all I could do not to stop and walk. Going up a hill did me in. I took a walk break at mile 8 or so, which was really disappointing. I know this is my first half marathon and its way farther than I’ve ever gone, but I so badly didn’t want to have to walk. The funny thing was, it didn’t really affect my time too greatly since I was running pretty slowly anyway. John just stayed with me, jogging at a comfortable pace. I felt kind of bad for him, I know he was capable of going a great deal faster than I was and I felt a little guilty for holding him back. But he just wanted to run the entire way (same here, *snort*) so he kept me going by singing loudly and yelling out whatever inspirational messages he could come up with. I asked him to let me lead for a while, since seeing him running just reminded me that I wasn’t. That actually helped a bit.

At this point, I think I am dying. My legs were going numb and I started to worry that I might fall. I could see the light…my ancestors beckoning me to come to them…your legs don’t hurt in heaven and we have a burrito here for you…

Oh and yeah, John started talking about food of all horrible things. I wasn’t hungry until he mentioned his increasing desire for a Philly cheesesteak. So now I had to contend with pain as well as hunger.

Miles ten through the end were about the same, me warding off the death angel and wondering what I was going to eat for lunch. You know, if I lived to see the end of this race. And where the crap is mile marker twelve? The eleventh mile seemed to go on forever and ever; I didn’t know whether to kiss mile marker twelve or puke on it. I chose to just soldier on.

I let John get about a minute ahead of me at this point. We were each on our own. There was no amount of encouragement I could get from him or anyone else that was going to help me; I had to finish this thing myself.

Crossing the finish line was a bit anticlimactic. I didn’t have Jonathan there to root for me and most of the other runners had finished long before and gone home. But I was happy to have completed it, regardless of the fact that I probably walked a mile or so of the race. I can’t let that fact take away the joy of the accomplishment. However, I know me all too well and it will take some time for me to feel that way, unfortunately.

I filled out my little card with my time on it (2 hours, 47 minutes and 58 seconds) and looped my finisher’s medal around my neck. John and I took some pictures and that was pretty much it.
I am really proud of my run today, especially considering I’ve only been running about six months. If you told me a year ago that I’d be running a half marathon today, I’d say you were crazy or lying. Or possibly both. But I did do it and I’m exceedingly happy. I hope that this was the first of many successful long-distance races.

Note: If you'd like to see pictures from this race and some of my other ones, just click on the title...it'll direct you to the album I've posted on facebook. It's way easier than trying to post the pics here.