Today was my very first half marathon, yes, the great 13.1 miler. There were more reasons than this for why today was a good day. For one thing, I wasn't nervous...and I'm always nervous before a race. A really nice guy named Brian came and stood by me, giving encouragement. I was making random comments and he thought I was funny, dubbing me "The Rookie" since it was my first half. The D.J. played the best possible song at the start of the race, Mercedes Boy by Pebbles. I started off with a slow jog, as planned. However, that plan was soon thwarted because I was quickly becoming the end of the run rush. A few minutes later, two cop trucks were behind those of us at the end, and one told us--on his loudspeaker--that we were too slow and needed to hurry up. I confess to turning around and flipping him off. That cop car left and only one followed from that point. A little later, though, his words truly bothered me. It made me feel like the whole city was being held up because I was so slow. I broke my plan and tried to move faster, which only made me more tired. By Mile 3, I was really tired.
I was so self-conscious about what that cop said that I actually apologized to another police person who was blocking traffic, assuring him that I was moving as fast as I could. His response was, "I'm getting paid to stand here. You take your time and finish this race!" He even offered to do the next block with me, and after he stopped, another officer took his place. I was so stunned and so flattered that tears had to be subdued. As I continued, I ran into a woman who said the same thing, "Take your time and finish the race. Don't hurt yourself for nobody!" I tried to keep up my spirit, but the first five miles were murder. My legs felt like lead weights and were so cold that I could barely feel them. My feet were completely frozen and numb. The people in front of me were disappearing. I kept telling myself that if I could make it to half a mile past the 6th mile, then everything would be OK because after that, the countdown to the finish started.
It was really refreshing to have people on the side cheering for everyone. Some even stopped and hugged me--including one dressed as a bear. There were so many people that were cheering for me that I was genuinely stunned by it. I walk around people everyday that act like I'm a freak because I want to be a runner, yet these complete strangers were rooting for me like I was family. A priest came out of his church to to cheer us on, too. I was feeling really confident.
Then, at Mile 7, the leg spasms started. That great misnomer, the Charley Horse (or as I call them, Satan's Spasms), have been a continuous issue for me this year. I know I don't get enough potassium, but I freaking hate bananas. Sure, it is possible to get it in pill form, but bananas have a well-earned reputation. I'll just have to learn to love them, but I digress. The spasms were so strong that I stopped trying to run. At one point, they were so bad that I was leaning against a car in pain, trying to rub them out of my leg. The cop car was still behind me, and he got out. I was preparing my speech about how I wasn't going to quit, when he just simply asked me if I was OK. This wasn't that a-hole, he was a good guy. I rubbed my leg until the pain went away and gave him a thumbs up, slow walking until I could build back up to my original pace. By this time, the marathoners were on their second lap. The elite marathoners were passing me. I was on Mile 8 when I was seriously considering just giving up. After all, I kept the decision to do the race mostly secret just for that potential occasion. Just as I was having this thought, a man ran by with "I can do all things through Christ which strengthen me" on the back of his shirt. I felt like that was a personal message from God to me, and started tearing up again.
As I pushed on, something very unexpected happened; something I hope I never forget. The marathoners--these elite runners--started cheering me on. They gave me high-fives and would shout "Keep it up, you're doing great!" These are the people I want to emulate, and they were cheering for ME!
Mile 9 will from now on be the Happy Place. When I saw that marker, the end of the race officially became real, and that finish line felt attainable. From that moment on, I chanted "Just make it to Mile 10..." From Mile 10, it was "Just make it to Mile 11..." and so forth. Mile 12 was too good to be true. One more mile. You can do this. Just one more mile.
I wanted to run the last three miles at the 10 Mile marker, but my legs had other ideas. But for Mile 12, I hobbled that last mile. Crossing the finish line and having people genuinely cheering for you was such an experience. Someone called me out by name, and even though I never saw who that was, it was still fantastic.
I finished the race. I got the medal. It's been a year of running. Almost exactly a year ago, I was doing my first 5K. Today, I finished my first half marathon.
And I can't wait to do another one.
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