Fall Classic

The half-marathon went really, really well. I ended up beating my goal time of 2:15 (chip time: 2:10:34.3), which is significant because 2:15 was my "best case scenario" goal, with my main goal being just to finish.

I'm not sure I would have finished without S., a woman from my clinic. S. needs a bit of an aside here. She organized a pasta feed the other night entitled "The LBD Dinner," because "Little Black Dress" was her mantra for our long slow runs, since those keep us in the fat-burning zone and there was a LBD at the Gap she had her eye on. She's one of those force-of-nature types who just makes everything more fun.

She and I trained in the same pace group but we all decided not to make any commitments about running the race together so that no one would feel held back or pressured to keep up. But S. and I determined about 2K into the race that we were pretty much in sync, and when I accidentally reset my stopwatch around the 5K mark, I was glad to have her to keep me on schedule.

The course was a double loop and relatively flat, with one low-grade but deceptively difficult hill that I didn't realize was a hill until it was almost over and I couldn't figure out why I was breathing so hard. I commented to S. that I felt like I was moving backward. It was a really weird sensation; I felt like we had slowed down to the point where walking would have been faster. But we made it through the first 10K loop ahead of schedule and in relatively good spirits.

The second loop was a little demoralizing, having to bypass the same scenery and see many of the elite racers already headed back, but there was the advantage of knowing what to expect and how much farther it was going to feel. For the most part I felt strong, but there were a few times when I just really, really wanted to stop. I could imagine the instant relief I would feel and it was so tempting.

It was during these moments that I really had to reflect on why I was doing this in order to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I was glad to have S. with me, even though we were working to hard to say much. Every so often she would tell me to pass people and I did it without question, although I commented later on the likelihood of her having been a drill instructor in a past life.

I sprinted the last few hundred metres, spurred on by an African drumming performance. I crossed the finish line at quite a clip, which is unusual for me because I tend to just stop the second I hit the mat. I felt incredibly light-headed the second I stopped, unlike anything I'd ever experienced while running. S. crossed a few seconds later and we hugged. Someone put a finisher medal over my head. My clinic instructor finished a few minutes later and we set up to cheer the rest of the group in.

It was much more emotional for me to see all of them cross than it was for me to do it myself--that was one of the most surprising parts of the whole experience for me. I feel invested in their success and I know from talking to them what it means to them personally to have done this. There was one woman who had been struggling with serious injuries over the past few weeks and she had to stop halfway through the race today. She was there waiting for us at the finish line, but she was crying openly. It was really hard to see that. No one wanted her to be hard on herself, but you just can't convince someone of that, especially not a runner. I've been there.

I scheduled the day off of work tomorrow so I may go get a massage, get my hair cut, or just sit on my ass because I can't move. But I'm already thinking about when I can start running again and which race to train for next.