13.1 Miles

No, there's no need to rub your eyes or clear the smudges from your glasses. It is really me, blogging once again, back from my two year hiatus--or however long it's been.

And no, it's not that I've suddenly decided to get back into blogging. I wish, but time just doesn't seem to permit for that these days. No; what's pulled me back into the blogosphere has been the several inquiries bout the half marathon I spontaneously participated in back in March; it was a rather sudden decision. So I accepted the challenge of another blog post. And what follows is my story; though I must warn, if you're not a reader, feel free to exit out of this page knowing that she completed a half marathon. Great. For the rest of you, I hope you're comfortable. So without further ado, here's how the story goes.

It was the beginning of January when a bubble appeared over my head: what about running a 5k? It may come as no surprise that I have occasional bizarre ideas, but this has been an old one that keeps rebounding through the years with the guilt of never having embraced the challenge hanging over me. This time, however, the challenge was inspired from a sermon. The overall idea was to not only endure hardness (based on 2 Timothy 2:3) but also embrace it. And so ensued a conversation with myself: Do something hard. Practice self discipline. Something practical, but difficult. And it makes sense doesn't it? Practicing doing difficult things is fit training for when trials hit that are out of your control. I mean, how do you prepare for anything if not by doing the thing? Paul often uses the analogy of running a race to typify our own race in life. Perhaps I can glean something from this. And so I began looking for a local 5k that I could run. As it turns out, Saturdays are very popular for races. I expanded my search to Nashville but to no avail. I investigated other options like mud-runs, colour runs, and even marathons. I saw a half marathon available on a Sunday. Hang on...exactly how long is a half marathon? 13.1 miles. No way. I would be an idiot to attempt that. I ended my search and decided I would just have to come up with a different challenge. 30 minutes later, I couldn't get my mind off of the half marathon. I did another search for shorter races. Still, nothing. All precautions aside, I decided that 13.1 miles isn't so bad and found myself actually getting excited about the idea. I signed up.

One thing I wish I gave more thought to is preparation and education. I have lots of drive and energy, and my vision is really clear about the goal and the end result. In this case, I could envision myself crossing the finish line, but it didn't really cross my mind what this would mean for the time between--the how-to part of things. Once I was signed up for the race, I breathed a sigh of relief--I finally committed! Success! I stared at the date of the race. February 22nd. I started calculating. Oh...that means I only have six weeks till the big day. Ummmm...did I just get ahead of myself? I drafted a quick outline for training using Sarah's Logic as my only guide (mental note for future challenges: seek to properly educate yourself on a subject before jumping in).

I began training at the gym on the elliptical. And I was pumped and I was invincible. In only a couple days, I was running 6 miles in an hour. Just think, Sarah. Do this two times, plus another mile, and you're done! Cake! I kept it up for a week and decided it was time to do some real-road-running. There's difference between running on a treadmill and running on pavement. And so began week two of my real-running phase. I started running up and down the soccer field at the school I was working at. But after only 20 minutes of real-running, I was panting. I kept looking at my watch as if there was some mistake. Come one Sarah. You can do this! As if to combat my internal cheerleading, the wind picked up and it was bitter! I felt sharp pangs on my face. Rain. I ran for another 10 minutes before I decided to call it quits. The following day, I came down with a cold. Based on experience, I made the executive decision to just focus on getting through this cold. Hot lemon and honey was about the only thing I put in my body for the rest of that week. I forfeited my entire week of training to recover. Week 3, I went back to the gym to visit the elliptical. I kept steady with 6 miles per hour (or 1 mile per ten minutes). Week 4 was another bitter weather week; but as much as I needed the practice of real-pavement running, I stuck with the gym to prevent any more sickness. Finally, week 5 came and I hit the pavement, running 6 miles to start. I ran three times a week, and with each run, I increased my distance one extra mile. I literally felt like Forrest Gump, like I could just keep running and never get tired...until I reached mile 10. My 1-mile-per-10-minutes-pace started expanding to 1 mile per 11 minutes, then 1 mile per 12 minutes. Something about that 10 mile mark wore me out! And then it happened: I started to dread running. The day of the race came along with an ice storm. The race was canceled and rescheduled for the following Sunday. Great. Another week of running. Yes, I started to look at this event as something I just wanted to hurry up and get through.

Finally, the big day arrived. I'd been up since 3 a.m. that morning as I couldn't sleep due to a miry mix of excitement and apprehension. I shot off an email to the family and got an immediate response from one brother giving advice about keeping in step with the feet just ahead of me if I should get to feeling really tired. It wasn't long after that I received some uplifting words and an inspirational video from another brother. I also got an email from  my mother and sisters. It was exactly what I needed to turn my dread into drive. Family really is everything.

Driving up the trail I read the sign: "Welcome to Dry Creek Trail Marathon and Half." It was named appropriately, just not the "dry" part. But the route was a mix of old dirt roads, a cow-beaten path through old wheat fields, and trails in the forest that weren't really trails. The unbeaten path through the woods was marked with flags, engulfed by leaves, branches and boulders; there was even a creek to be crossed.

After arriving, I made my way to check in at the "register:" a picnic table underneath a pavilion. There, I signed a paper stating I was over 18, blah, blah, blah, aware of potential dangers, skim, skim, skim, and no throwing trash in the forest. No problem! I was given a shirt, a snazzy pair of socks, and a number: 111. Could it have been a sign that I am three times a winner? I chuckled at the idea.

I arrived early, so I had some time to meet some of the other runners. Every single one of them had those skin-tight runner's pants and matching tops, vibrant coloured shoes, and some kind of water pack--very experienced and professional looking runners. But there I was, in my old black pants with a compilation of tops--an old work shirt from which I'd torn the sleeves, a long-sleeved hooded shirt, and a zip up-sweater. I didn't want to be stuck with being too hot or too cold and figured layers were a good option. I had gone to Goodwill a couple weeks before in hopes to find a decent pair of running shoes that I wouldn't mind abusing for 13.1 miles, and I actually found a pair of Puma's--I wasn't completely out of style!

After stating how many half marathons he'd run, one runner asked me how many I'd run. I could tell he was kind of laughing at my amateurish mentality--this was not only my first half marathon, but my first run ever! And I didn't have a water pack to replenish as I ran--I told him my plan was to run straight through the 13.1 miles, non-stop. "You realize, this is a trail run, right? This isn't street running. This is back-in-the-woods, getting dirty running." Yeah, I knew it, though I still wasn't sure exactly what to expect. I had my own ideas of what "trail run" meant, but nothing is like the experience of it. I got a little giddy when only in the 2nd mile, I passed this guy as I saw him break his run and began walking. And as I passed him, I noticed my pace increased, and my steps went from heavy thuds to delicate and graceful lengths! But it wasn't long before my original clomping pace returned. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It was two minutes before the race began that I suddenly had the urge to go to the bathroom. The last thing you want is to have to break your pace with a bathroom break! So I waited in line and by the time I got to start my race, it was 4 minutes passed 8:00 (start time) and everyone else had already taken off. So much for my chances of coming in first! Though it's not like I even had a chance of that anyway. But I started the run with a pep in my step, feeling pumped. I was trusting my 80's playlist to keep me going at a solid pace. Dexy's Midnight Runners had me off to a good start! As I passed the parking lot where Sam was sitting in the car, I waved and he managed to snap a couple pictures.

Mile number one went by so quickly. I passed a few people on the rock road to start the race. Taking a dirt path on the immediate right, in mile two, I passed our braggadocios friend and some others. The path turned into a two-grooved trail through a wheat field, and it wasn't long until the trail disappeared into the woods where running became more like dodging.

Mile three, enter: STEEP HILL. The grade on this hill was so steep (first, down hill) people were stopping to take care that they didn't fall or get out of control of their speed. I was able to push my way to the front of the pack; on a grade like that, instead of stopping, sometimes you can lean back just enough to control your speed and work against gravity. But again, at this point on the trail, there was no beaten path; leaves were about 4 inches thick. Stones and branches were hiding, ready to trip you up at any minute; there were fairly large crevices in the ground formed by rushing springs from a former time. And it got worse. Once reaching the bottom, there was a creek to get around or jump over. I saw a girl stop and try to scout out a way around it. I had been adamant about not stopping, and I didn't have much time to think. If you stop, Sarah, you're not going to be able to get going again. I did a quick scan of the surroundings. I didn't see any apparent way around the creek...so I jumped. Not far enough. I landed right in the middle of it. It was only ankle deep, but the moment I came out on the other side, my feet were yelling at me; very unhappy they were. But I couldn't give them attention for too much longer because there was the other side of the hill to conquer: the uphill. And just as steep as the grade was going down, it was UP as well. It's as if the path could read my mind; I was chanting don't stop, don't stop, to the beat of my pace, but with each step, the hill kept getting steeper and steeper. In fact, I changed my mind about this even being a hill. No, this was a mountain! I tilted my head to look up to the top of the mountain. Every single person was strenuously walking, pressing their hands against their thighs. Some stopped to be aided by trees. Perhaps it was a mistake to consider how everyone else handled the challenge because it's as if my mind slipped my own track and fell right into step with theirs. My run suddenly became a walk, as if I had no control over it. In a matter of seconds, my breathing intensified, and my lung capacity seemed to shorten; it's like I couldn't take a breath that was deep enough. So there I was, mile 4, forced by nature to break my run with a walk, but it wasn't a rejuvenating break. It wasn't like I was catching my wind and taking a break. As soon as I could feel the mountain lessen it's grade, I went right back into my run, passing another two runners.

Once at the top of the mountain, mile 5 leveled out presenting a new challenge: mud. I dodged puddle after puddle, sank into mud pits, but still continued to pass other runners. There's something about passing others that feels almost empowering. It sounds terrible, I know, but there is something to healthy competition. I have an app on my phone that keeps track of my miles, and in the first 6 miles, after passing several runners, I noticed that my pace was pretty quick. I was clocking about 9.45 minutes per mile. My average time in training had been 11 minutes per mile--I have to believe that the difference had something to do with the fact that I had competition. Mile 7 to 13 was a good stretch of just me. I saw people in front of me, but couldn't manage to pass them. It's also when I noticed my pace slowed down.

Now, once I made it to mile 7, there was an "aid station" trying to lure me in to get me to stop. There were two big coolers of water with some kind of electrolyte-replenisher drink, and snacks. Just keep running, Sarah. There was a girl in front of me that I'd been trying to pass, but she kept finding the strength to push on--that is, until the stations' powers proved too strong for her. She caved-in to the temptations and stopped for a drink. Passing her and the station, I suddenly got my second wind! But not even 3 minutes into mile 8, the same girl was passing me, resuming her position about 10 paces ahead of me. I only knew her as Number 209 and all I could think for the next two miles was how 111 should be before 209. 

At this point in the race, the trail turned into a road of rocks, mud, and puddles. It was a stretch of about three miles leading to a dead end where we were to turn around and retrace those same three miles to finish out the race. Meanwhile, some of my training wounds began to whine and burn. That's when the video my brother sent me started playing in my head again. Pain is temporary, it said. Once gone, something else will take it's place. Quitting, however, lasts forever! Sacrifice what you ARE for what you will BECOME! It's not about how hard you can hit, but about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward! Pretty soon, my mind won, proving the truth behind "mind over matter."

Mile 8 was rough. I kept thinking, when is this path going to turn around? With each step, I could feel a sharp pain in my left foot. The moment just before my foot hit the ground, I was anticipating the pain in my calves. I started to dread each step. I realized I had to get my mind off the pain. I tried to focus on the words in my music: Here comes the rain again/ falling on my head like a memory/ falling on my head like a new emotion....It only made me think about the rain that was running down and into my eyes despite my preventative swipes with my sleeve. And that's when I started thinking about the email my other brother had sent with his advice: focus on the two feet ahead of you and try to keep in step. IT WORKED! I started focusing on Miss 209's rhythm. It turns out she was keeping with 4/4 time. I attempted to create a 3/4 pace in hopes to pass, but for some reason, it didn't work and the energy I put into trying to compete with her beat was exhausting. Instead, I continued to follow the advice and it took me all the way to mile 9.

Somewhere in mile 9, Miss 209 stopped. She bent over to look at her ankle (I think she was bluffing). It was then I passed her and never saw her again until she was running across the finish line long after I did. Meanwhile, some of the first runners to take off (while I was in the bathroom, remember) had reached the "turn-around" point (the 3-miles-to-go marker) and were now coming towards me. The first one to pass me was a young man, skinny as a rail and he didn't just pass me, he whizzed by; I could literally feel the wind behind him. He was FAST! I made a note to myself just then: find out what music is on that guy's playlist! A few minutes later, there were a few more speeding by. It had me hopeful for that turn-around point, and just beyond the bend, I could see the final temptation: Aid Station Number 3. I saw four people standing at the station getting refreshments. I could see the cup reach their mouth, their heads tilted back, and as if I were for a moment transposed into their being, I could feel the liquid going down my own throat. No Sarah! Don't stop! You're almost there! As if I wanted a bigger challenge, I took one of the buds out of my ear to hear the man at the station ask: "How about some tasty lemon water, or--" I wouldn't even let him finish or I might be wooed into stopping. "No thanks!" I said. I tried to be pleasant about it, but it probably came out sounding more like a wheezy Gollum. But turning down that final obstacle, making the turn, beginning to trace back over my same steps gave me a thrill! Only three miles to go--the very same last three miles I just ran--and I was feeling more energetic than ever.

About half way into my 11th mile, a short little hobbit-size woman passed me. To be honest, I was taken off guard by this. I mean, I was feeling pretty good...until this number 115. She made me feel slow. I started following her rhythm and was baffled that her pace was no faster than mine. That could only mean one thing: her strides were longer. And this woman, I'm telling you, was the shortest thing! And really, no offense. I like short people. It was the science of it: how could she have longer strides than me? But here I was, mile 11, and I started thinking, if only I had trained with longer strides, I could be done already! I suddenly felt tired. Then I saw 115 stop. She reached the bottom of a hill and started to walk up the other side. I regained composure. I can catch her. And I did. But before I knew it, she was passing me again. Looking back on it all, I'm surprised at just how competitive I really am. I mean, you'd think I was running for a prize or something.

In mile 12, I came across another woman walking. She wore her number on her front, so my only identifier for her is The Teaser. Of all of them, she was the one to beat! Keep reading; you will find out why. She would walk, I would pass her; then not even a minute later, she would pass me, running. This process was on repeat all throughout mile 12. It's as if she was teasing me. I finally got tired of her teasing and slowed down. I could feel my feet dragging. I could feel my legs wobble with every thud of my feet.

Beginning mile 13, my breathing started to turn into gasping. My mind started saying, you've pushed too far. In mind-over-matter, matter started to gain the upper hand. With one mile to go, instead of feeling relieved like I anticipated--because come on, Sarah, what's 1 mile?-- I was feeling heavy. My pains kept shouting that 13 miles was just too many and my mind was getting ready to agree. I looked down at my muddy Pumas and listened to the aching of my feet. But what's it worth if you stop just one mile short? Pain is temporary, quitting lasts forever. When I raised my head, I saw the final bend. It was just what I needed. I saw The Teaser reaching the bend. With about a quarter mile to go, I forced my mind to ignore the wobble in my legs. You're not tired. You're on fire! And Jenny, I was running! Not limping. Not jogging. But running. Before long, I was on the heels of The Teaser, and just seconds after she crossed the finish line, I expelled the last of my energy with a grunt and a grimace. FINISHED!!!

Let me interject and give one word of advice to anyone who might decide to run a half marathon or more (or less!). If you are dependent on your music, you might want to go through your playlist before hand. For the entire race, I had awesome music playing--mostly 80's, but most importantly, it had a great beat. However, coming up to the finish line, the song to end my run, my epic finale, was Bread's "Baby I'ma Want You." Talk about a buzz kill! The moment I needed something like "The Final Countdown" or "500 Miles" or Aha, I got Bread.

After crossing the finish line, I was handed a medal. Once I finally stopped running and paced in circles, I was beaming. I felt empowered. I noticed no one else was wearing their medal; like I was really three times a winner, I placed mine around my neck and wore it proudly. I win.


Once the rest of the runners made it back, there were some "surprise" awards handed out. A 3rd place award in the category "Women 45 and under" (that would include me) went to The Teaser. So you see, had I have managed to pass her, I would have won 3rd place in my division. And yet, I'm still so very happy with my unmentioned 4th place win. I'm so proud of myself for finishing, and so thankful for all the support and encouragement I got just before my run.

My nose led me over to the grill where they were providing hot dogs and hamburgers for all of us marathoners. I gobbled up two hamburgers that were cold but somehow satisfying. A few of the runners encouraged me to keep racing in the future, but I'm pretty convinced that while this was my first half marathon, it is also my last. That is, unless someone asks me to run one with them--only then will I reconsider.

Being on this side of the finish line and being able to say I did it, and knowing that no one can take that away from me, is so richly rewarding! The time devoted to training, day in and day out, all the changes required, all the pains that come with it, and finally the race that counted--it was all worth it! It's true: pain is only temporary. "For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us," said Paul. If this is what it feels like to finish a half marathon, how much more rewarding will it be to finish the race that counts? I can only imagine...