Half-Marathons and Other Obnoxious Displays of Athleticism
This past weekend I ran my 4th half-marathon. Now before you get all congratulatory and stuff… let me just say, it was fucking awful.
After high school, I started using running as a meaning of weight loss and then eventually a way to relieve some stress. Ever since then, it’s kind of stuck. Occasionally, I will get a wild idea and tell my husband, “hey honey, let’s sign up for that upcoming race,”. Now, him being a man… he lives for the competition… wants to beat his previous time and constantly get better and faster. Me? Nope… I just want to make it out alive.
I actually suck when it comes to properly training for the big 13.1 miles. In order to run that much, you have to fuel your body with so much food (or at least I do) and I’m just not willing to do that. The only time I’m ever able to crank out anything past 8 miles is after cheat day. And yes, I know there is a big difference between cheat day carbs and carbs to help fuel you before a run. I’m just not interested in those.
So before this race, I tried to scarf down a protein bar (and yes, a couple of Krispy Kreme mini blueberry crullers because fuck, they’re good and it is cheat day, after all). I got most of the cardboard-tasting protein bar down but actually fell asleep in the car with partially chewed protein bar still in my mouth. I’m just a sexy creature… I know
I opted out of stuffing a few energy gel packs in my sports bra (I had no pockets) because the last time I did, I had spots rubbed raw where cleavage was supposed to be. It’s a shame I couldn’t just cut open my boobs and hide them in there… there’s plenty of room in those empty skin bags.
Evan wanted to take a “before” SnapChat picture… so we did and it was then I realized I had protein bar dried on my lips… I’m telling ya… sexy mama right here. I kissed my husband good luck and the race started. We certainly don’t run together… I’m very much a ‘you do you, I do me’ kind of gal, so he does his best (waaaayyyy better than me) and I attempt to make it to the finish line alive.
So, I felt great at the start of the race. It felt like the race had just started and I was already seeing the Mile 2 marker. After a little further, I thought we were surely getting close to mile 5. But, then I see another Mile 2 marker. Confused… I thought maybe there was a labeling system I wasn’t aware of. I finally looked at my Garmin (I try to avoid looking at my watch for as long as possible) and we were only at Mile 2. This was my first clue I was going to have a bloody fantastic time (sarcasm) running this.
Mile 4, I desperately wished I had an energy gel pack to down because I was fading pretty freaking fast. At some point between miles 5-6, I started to get tunnel vision and felt as if I was trying to breathe heavily through a straw. A volunteer on a bicycle stopped to ask if I was ok. Lolz, just fantastic mate… I considered asking for a tandem ride back to the finish but decided maybe I’ll just walk a little bit.
Mile 8 is when I imagined chopping my feet off so I had a good excuse to not finish because I had absolutely no desire to finish this thing. Nope… officially sworn off any future half-marathons as well. Around mile 9, I witnessed an older lady (probably in her 60’s) trip, fall and bust open her elbow. I tried to help her and point out the nearest medic tent (since she had blood dripping down her arm) but she apparently is the most bad-ass 60-something-year-old and refused to stop. Bravo!
Somewhere around mile 10 or 11, I saw the cutest little house with one of those tiny, free libraries in their front yard. I considered stopping to snap a pic because that would make an adorable Instagram snap but my desire to finish the race and put the race forever behind me outweighed my picture hopes.
Finally, I finished the bloody race. My husband finished the race and met his goal of completing under two hours. I won’t bore you with my time, but I will say that I met my goal of surviving. Considering the temperatures peaked ninety-something that day and humidity was at a lovely ninety-something percent by 9AM… I’m going to say that my goal of simply living through the half-marathon was good enough for me. I walked a fair amount and that’s totally fine by me. After having a difficulty breathing and tunnel vision, I realized that (outside of being murdered) dying whilst running a half-marathon was probably the last way I wanted to go. So, I’ll settle for just finishing. Well, I finished.