I ran my second half marathon last weekend. I figured two within a month of each other would be a bit much, but was inspired to commit when I ran into friend Carrie Rabinowitz at the Turkey Trot with her family. Her son, Zach, was going to run his first half Dec. 11 in Thunder Road. Carrie prodded me to go ahead and sign up.
I continued to train after the Dowd half as if I would do Thunder Road, but could tell my body had weakened. I was tired all the time. I had a nagging pain in my right foot. After a few weeks of six miles runs and weekends of 9 and 10 mile runs I figured I'd go for it.
A friend's husband asked what I think about on long runs. "It's just a long time and running is so damn boring," he said (or something like it). What do you think about?"
This time around it was easy. I just kept thinking, "I could walk now. Or now. Or now."
I thought about the 100-year-old man who sidled up next to me at the convention center in his threadbare (and consequently see-through) running gear from 1962 who uncapped the largest tub of Vaseline I've ever seen and spread it all over his armpits and groin area while I tried to look away. A convention center full of hot, fit, young guys and who gets in my personal space? This guy.
I thought about the old guy in front of me whose sign read that this was his 52nd marathon THIS YEAR. Or the even older guy with the "100 marathon club" jersey who I had overheard talking about the marathon in Cape Town, Africa which is bordered by ocean. I'm lucky I get to local races on time I can't imagine making it to one in another country. One I might need shots for.
Then I rolled my ankle badly just before mile five. Through my music I could hear everyone around me gasp as I teetered toward the curb. Someone grabbed my arm and told me I might want to stop. I just shrugged.
I spent miles five through seven wondering if it was God's way of telling me to stop. Maybe a guardian angel had rolled my ankle FOR me. "God, if you mean for me to stop, you're going to have to do it again, I guess," I reasoned.
Miles seven through 10 I tallied why I should keep going. My endorphins kick in around mile seven so miles seven through eight or nine usually are pretty pleasant blurs. Ten has been a doozy for me. My stomach was growling. I don't handle food well while exercising and even sports drinks tend to give me a sugar spike that makes me feel like ass for the next five minutes. I carefully nibble protein bars or a bit of granola bar, but food is a fickle dance for Regan. It's best to attempt to eat well beforehand, power through and try to recoup after - at least when it comes to any Regan races.
I had already figured out that I could make it in even if I started walking, but I'd just wind up with a ridiculous time and loping right in front of the sag wagon. And for what? Mile 11 went on forever. The rest was decent.
I finished ahead of my last half at 2:11 and change. I'll take it - and the 26.2 finisher medal I got for doing the Dowd and Thunder Road. I think it's kind of cheating to add distances together like that. So I won't ever put a 26.2 sticker on my car. But I'll gladly take the medal, thank you very much!
Some girls finish looking as good as when they started. They have perky ponytails. They wear slimming black. They dance from foot to foot. I haven't watched myself, but I imagine from how I wind up at the end that I don't look like that.
I'm short, low to the ground. The Little Engine That Could. I don't drool on myself or anything but I certainly don't look sexy at the finish line.
It's not really the point, but it'd be nice.
Now to choose my next races. Do I tackle one at Folly Beach on my 30th birthday and hobble around the rest of the day? We shall see.
I've had a number of job interviews this week. Seems ole Regan is getting back in the game. I have three stories in the current issue of Ballantyne Magazine. I think my story about local athletic directors is my favorite, which was surprising because I had such angst about tracking everyone down. In the end, however, I had a blast with all five of the ADs I interviewed.
As always, I'll let you know where I wind up. More sooner rather than much later. Sleep well!
Dowd Y Half
Thunder Road Half
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