Writing a race recap is an exercise of memory, especially for the recollection-challenged. One might think that recognizing this “quality” in myself, I would run directly to my computer (after crossing the finish line) in order to get it all down before the experience evaporates from my middle-aged brain cells. But since I usually like to take time to sift through the day’s events, and because I really do have responsibilities other than running and keeping a blog, my reflections and pontifications on The Windsor Green Half Marathon are coming to fruition several weeks after the fact.
I could disclose what I did in the days before the race to ensure I would be ready. I might go on about what I drank and ate and how much sleep I got. I should inform you of my workout schedule in the week leading up to a half marathon. But if you haven’t figured it out already, this isn’t that kind of a blog. Although I’ve run more of these 13.1 mile races than I care to can remember, I don’t fancy myself an authority on the subject. (I sometimes know what works and doesn’t for me, and that’s about it.)  There are plenty of bloggers out there who are willing to wear hats of authority and pretension, and truth be told they completely get on my nerves. (Yes, I read other people’s blogs too). Unless you’re Kara Goucher, Shalane Flanagan, Deena Kastor, or Joan Benoit Samuelson- get over yourself already!  Anyway, I digress.
What I am going to tell you about, and what I’m sure you are dying to hear, is that I AM BACK to a sub 2 hour half marathon!  I should probably be careful about how much I boast and maybe could really try to contain my excitement and pride since who the hell knows if this was the result of my training and hard work or just the outcome of a really good day where all of the stars (and hills) were aligned in my favor (gasp- that was a run-on mouthful).  But both TPM and I were victorious, although neither of us believed it to be in the realm of possibility  at the race’s start.

At that point, we were mostly concerned with bulldozing our way through the port-a-potty line in order to make it to the start line in time.  That all worked out just fine but for whatever reason, I decided to start futzing with my music  exactly when the gun sounded.  I began running very distractedly, trying desperately to get the sound to come out of my headphones rather than my phone, while simultaneously attempting to make my Garmin cooperatively sync.   Not off to a strong start.  But somehow in my weaving through the throngs of runners and settling in to a sustainable race pace, we passed the 2-hour pacer.  I then decided that if I could just keep a big enough gap between that 2-hour sign carrier and myself,  I could maybe, possibly, hopefully beat 2 hours.

I’d like to say I cruised along for miles effortlessly enjoying the sights, but in reality I plowed forward with eyes locked on my Garmin.  I didn’t chat with my fellow runners or make any friends.

 IcandothisIcandothisIcandothisIcandothis

Until mile 11 anyway, when that bitch with the sign passed me. I think I started crying, but it could have been the sweat dripping down my face.

That’s it.  Forget it.  I’m out.  I’ve got nothing left.

Obviously I had slowed down.  Obviously I wasn’t going to finish this POS race in less than 2 hours.  Obviously I was a crybaby loser.  Obviously I didn’t want it badly enough.  And this is precisely where I  believe (see I’m saying I believe so I’m not being preachy or authoritative) mental strength supersedes physical ability in endurance running.

 I’m so close.  I can do this.  It’s only 2.1 more miles.

And guess what?  I somehow propelled my fatigued legs, which I wasn’t sure were even attached to my body any longer, with sheer will.   And when I arrived in the chute and saw the timing clock on the horizon,  I wouldn’t have been able to stop smiling if I had tried.  1:57:49  You have my permission to be impressed.

 

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