Sunday, May 24, 2015
Start time: 7am
Temp at start: 60 degrees, bright & sunny
Finish Time: 3:11:05
Wow, my first half marathon since June of last year. Those days of running a half marathon every month seem like a distant memory, and my legs would agree with that too. However, this race falls into my top 5 "most proud of" list. I knew I wasn't in any shape to have a great finish time, but the mental victory that happened was even better. Here's how it all went down:
The training
I was on the "one long per week" training plan, which is not actually a training plan. I was swimming a few days per week, and occasionally I would do a mid-week short run, which for me these days means less than 2 miles. Not exactly the kind of miles you need to be logging when training for 13.1 miles. My two longest runs were both 10 miles, both of which I did with my training partner Lisa. One was an awesome run, and the second one was so bad that I felt like rigor mortis had set in around mile 9.5. I tried to do one more 10 miler after that -- a redemption run, if you will -- but that one I only made 8 miles, and I didn't feel any better. It's hard to go into a race with the mantra of "trust your training" when your training looked like that, so instead, I just had to find a new mantra. My new mantra became "find your limits."
Speaking of finding limits, Run to Remember seems to grow in participants every year. This year there were 11,000 people running the race, which is a combination of half marathon and 5-mile participants. They shut down many streets in Boston and Cambridge for this race to happen. Because of the sheer volume of people and the impact on the city, they discourage walkers from the half marathon because they need to reopen the streets as quickly as possible. The race director had sent multiple emails reminding runners that they could switch from the half marathon to the 5-mile at no cost. There was also a note on their website that any runners that didn't make it to the 2 mile mark by 28 minutes would be diverted to the 5-mile course. A fourteen-minute mile is roughly the distinguishing line between those who are running and those who are walking. A fourteen-minute mile also happens to be my goal pace. I thought about the possibility of switching to the 5-mile race, but a 5-mile race really had no appeal to me. A few days before the race I made peace with the fact that if I was diverted to the 5-mile course, then at least I knew that that decision was made for me, and it wasn't me opting out.
Race Day
There was a group of us running, so we all met up before the race: Me, my cousin Jane, my brother-in-law Aniss, and my liver teammates Lisa & Connie. My sister Kate was there to spectate and hold all of my stuff (thanks Kate!) The race was so congested that we were still trying to get out of the building when they were singing the Star Spangled Banner. The first wave of people started, and we were still packed like sardines in the lobby of the building. After the second wave of people started, the crowd started to move forward, and we just got swept along into the starting corrals. There was likely no integrity left to the pacing order by which you're supposed to line up. It was just a sea of people with no choice but to surge forward. We started somewhere around 7:20am, and there was a 4th wave that started a few minutes after we did.
I felt like crap for the first few miles of the race. Actually, I felt like I usually feel when I go out for a run lately. It wasn't really anything new, I'm just out of shape and it takes a lot of energy just to do my patented "shuffle pace". I had no idea how I was going to continue this for another 11 miles. I was running with Connie, and I told her that I thought I'd switch to the 5-mile. I was surprised that I even thought that, let alone said it out loud, but that's how uncomfortable I was. I didn't even know if I could do the 5-mile. Everything just felt wrong. Connie tried to talk me out of it, and I think I could only manage a reply of an eye roll and an "ok" between huffs and puffs. I was secretly hoping that a volunteer on the course would be diverting the rest of us to the 5-mile course, which is just after the 2 mile mark. Connie, who had been running on my right hand side the entire race, suddenly appeared on my left side. Oddly enough, this was the side of the road where the 5 mile course split off. I joked that she was placing herself strategically between me and my escape route. When we got to the split, the volunteer who was directing runners said, "5-milers to the left, half marathoners to the right, if there's any of you left." Well, that's encouraging. I decided that I'd keep going on the half course until I found my limit, and then I'd just cut the course and walk back, taking the DNF. I told Connie that was my plan, and encouraged her to go ahead since she was planning to run the entire course, so she didn't need to sacrifice her race for mine when mine was already a lost cause. She slowly inched away from me and I continued my solo shuffle.
At the first out & back turnaround, Connie and I saw each other as we passed. I mockingly yelled to her, "I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" at which point the two women in front of me turned around and said, "Oh good for you! Is this your first?" and I said, "No, it's my twenty-third, but I don't remember it being this hard. Feels like my first!" That was the beginning of a long stretch of condescending cheers. Further up the course, you pass the front of the pack runners as they are doubling-back toward the finish line. I love the race for this reason, especially because it's a local race and I get to see a lot of friends and fellow teammates as they pass. It was in this stretch that I found my groove. My fastest mile of the race was in this stretch, and it felt effortless. I found the joy that I used to know from running in this stretch. It was wonderful. And yes, there were also the condescending cheers. These are the cheers from complete strangers that are running and cut over to the center line just to high five me and say, "way to go! you got this!" I know they meant well, and it didn't really bother me, but I knew that these same people wouldn't have given two shits about me had I been a few minutes faster per mile. Ah well... the good thing about being at the back of the pack, almost on your own, is that you get all of the attention to yourself. This was another mental victory for me, because on any other day, I would have avoided eye contact with these people, or taken my bib number off and moved to the sidewalk so they wouldn't know I was even participating in the same race as them. But instead, I returned every high five with a smile and damn if that didn't put a spring in my step. I love running!
The turnaround was fairly uneventful, although somewhere between mile 8 and 9 I think I knew that I'd be finishing the half marathon. It was also somewhere along here that I saw the street sweeper up on the course ahead of me, and shortly after that the police cruiser came by and told all the runners to get on the sidewalk. I knew that might be a possibility for the last few miles, but not at mile 8. But again, another mental victory, I just moved to the sidewalk. I didn't let that little incident ruin my day, or cast judgment on my value as a human being. It just meant I'd be running about 10 feet further to the right than what I had been doing, and I carried on. There were still water stops and even energy gel on the course, and plenty of volunteers that weren't yet showing signs of exhaustion and boredom, so for that I am thankful. I do wish that the last 2 miles of the course would have had course guides, or signage, or even arrows painted on the ground. We had no idea where to go, and at more than one intersection, I would run into another racer with a bib number on who came from an entirely different direction. We'd look at each other and at each of the possible directions of the intersection, collectively shrug, then choose a path at random. Follow for one block, repeat.
Eventually we made our way to the finishing stretch. I finished about 12 minutes slower than last year, which is actually a huge victory considering I was supposedly in marathon shape last year (I say supposedly, because I wasn't, but you get the idea.) Forgetting about the finishing time though, what a huge triumph for me personally. I can bitch and moan all I want about how I've been in a funk, but that's simply not true. I might not have the same level of fitness I've had in the past, but I have a good attitude, and that's even harder to master. I found the joy in running that I used to have; I reconnected with my liver teammates, even if it was just a high-five on the course or a quick chat before the race; I didn't quit even when presented with a perfectly reasonable, well-marked path; and I finished strong with a smile on my face. Dare I say it, but Beath Mode On!
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