To refresh memories:
Three years ago, I was 40 kilos overweight. I loved food too much, and I never exercised because being out of breath made me panic (that's only partly true; it would be more accurate to say I never exercised because I was lazy).
Something needed to change. I don't know why it stuck this time after other failed attempts, but I started eating healthy and exercising almost every day. Reaching my goal weight after a lifetime of being overweight felt like nothing else in this world. It was an amazing accomplishment.
But what I liked better than being slight(er) of frame? The new and fun active nature of my life. I developed a dirty little habit in the form of running. It was fun enough, but after a year of doing it half-heartedly, I realised I needed a goal to really work my way towards. A challenge to sink my teeth into. So.
The new pinnacle:
On Saturday, I ran my first half marathon.
I ran a half marathon.
I ran a freaking half marathon.
My flatmate Renee and I were supposed to spend ten solid weeks training for it, but with the holidays and our other various commitments, we only really got stuck in for the last five weeks. Her biggest pre-race run was 15km, mine was 18km. But it had been a slow, painful 18km with many walk breaks in the last 8km. Neither of us really expected to make it to the start line on Saturday.
But we packed up our gear and drove to the west coast, drinking water and snacking on pasta the whole way. We stayed with friends and tried to distract ourselves on Friday night. We were mostly successful; it still didn't feel quite real.
Saturday morning, the alarm went off at 5.30am. The sound of rain pouring down outside dampened our spirits. We nervously got our gear together and laced our timing chips to our shoes, pinned our race numbers on, pulled hoodies over our singlets to stay warm. We drove to the square in town where buses lined the dark streets, runners clamouring aboard in hushed excitement. We were driven 21km out of town into the gorge. It felt like our bus was taking us too far; surely we weren't expected to run that whole distance, surely 21km wasn't supposed to be that long!
All passengers were herded out of the bus so it could turn around and pick up another load. Every bus from the west coast must have been called in for the occasion. The rain was torrential, the river was swift and muddy, the wind was roaring. Our shoes and socks were soaked through within five minutes, and there wasn't a dry spot anywhere on my body. We huddled around for an hour, no shelter from the elements, before we finally took our places behind the start line. The wind whipped the rain against my bare skin and it felt like needles stabbing me. Renee yelled to me over the roar that it felt like she was being bruised.
The gun went off! We stood still, shivering and waiting for the pack to start moving. It was a good two minutes before we actually crossed the start line. And then we ran. And we ran. The first half hour was a battle against the elements, running with one hand across my number so the wind didn't rip it off, and the other hand shielding my eyes from the stinging, blinding rain. Somewhere after the first 5km it stopped and the weather was no longer an issue.
I’ll spare you from most of the details, but let me say this;
I didn't expect a great time. My mantra was: I'll be happy with anything under three hours. Honestly, I expected to end up walking for large portions near the end. I expected my motivation to flag. I expected many things.
What I did not expect was the grit and determination that came upon me for every single hill. I ran them all. I dug deep and was determined to take my dad's advice; just keep jogging up the hill at whatever reduced pace is necessary, and once at the top it's a cinch to keep going.
I did not expect to be a grinning idiot for most of it. But I was. Especially at about 8km when I realised that I was really doing this thing. And it was fun!
I did not expect to have any energy to spare on others. But I chatted with fellow runners, and I thanked race helpers, and I joked with a man at a drink station as I jogged by. Everyone was so friendly, and my mood was unlike any I've had before; I was so happy, so interactive, so alive. Everyone was there because they wanted to be, and I was one of them, and we were all doing this together.
I did not expect to run the whole thing. But, aside from walking through three drink stations (for no longer than 30 seconds each time) near the end so I could drink easily, and twice to consume energy supplements, I ran the whole thing. The whole thing. With 4km to go I was really struggling and there was no way I could keep it up. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't run any longer; I needed a break! So desperately! But I started telling myself, over and over, you can walk as much as you like afterwards, but you are here to run this race! So I jogged pitifully, I struggled along, my legs ached and my face burned. The rain had stopped after the first 10km and the sun was weakly trying to break through the clouds. I made promises to myself; just get to the next corner, get across the next bridge, make it to the next drink station, and maybe then you can walk for a bit, but I knew I wouldn't let myself stop. I ran the whole way, against my desperate desire to walk.
I did not expect to sprint across the finish line. The thought had seemed plausible earlier in the day, but by the last 4km I had dismissed the idea entirely. After the sign indicating there was only 2km left, I didn't see any more markers and I had no idea what distance I had to go. It was pretty rough, but now that we were running through town instead of the deserted open road, people lined the streets cheering and I couldn't walk. I had to keep running in the midst of all those whose energy had flagged. I'd had a few nightmares in the weeks leading up to it about getting lost, about running and not knowing what direction I was supposed to go in, and that almost came true. Luckily I was close behind someone and followed her lead around a corner, AND.
I saw the finishing chute! I saw the triangle flags in the distance, the orange cones indicating the last stretch, and my pace picked up. I didn't even realise what I was doing, but from somewhere deep inside came this surge of energy and I pumped my tired legs as fast as they would go. I stretched my stride and it felt like sprinting, but that was only in comparison to the crawling jog I was doing before then. Still, it felt good to give the last twenty metres everything I had.
Official results were posted later that afternoon. I came in at 2:39:07. Though there is much room for improvement, and though it was slower than my average pace in training runs, I am very happy with my time.
Renee, who I'd planned to run the whole thing with, started lagging after the first few kilometres, and the man I was running alongside encouraged me to just run my own race. We still ran in sight of each other for the first half, but eventually I lost sight of her and stopped turning around to check on her progress. She later told me that she walked in a few places due to injury issues, but she basically sprinted the last 2km and clocked in at 2:40:20. Very impressive!
(I know. I said I would skip most of the details. But trust me when I say that I really, truly did.)
Photo was taken the day after, as we drove home and counted down the kilometres, realising again just how far we freaking ran. There are a few of me from the actual race that reside on the cameras of friends, but I am yet to be in possession of them, and they are bound to be terribly unflattering and full of pained expressions. (It doesn’t matter though, because I’m kind of a star. See?)
To summarise:
I ran a half marathon, and I ran it well. I am happiest about the second part of that statement; it is the icing on an already delicious cake. I even did it well despite the elements at the beginning, despite running the whole thing with dripping clothes and wet shoes and prune-like feet. I did well despite the hills. I did well despite having done all my training on trails instead of tarmac. I did well despite my history.
I can't stop thinking to myself, I did this! I did this. I did this. I did this. Over and over, the emphasis on words switching each time.
I have come so far.
(And I am totally hooked. My next is in May.)
