I had kind of a breakthrough moment yesterday. When I was driving in the car on my lunch break a song came on that reminded me of last year, when I was scared and miserable all the time. I thought about how far I’d come since then, and how much I’d accomplished, and I pulled over to the side of the road and I bawled my eyes out.
I have this voice in my head. It’s very critical; more critical than my friends, my teachers, my coaches, my parents. After the race, it told me that missing my goal meant that I was a failure. That the body I’d worked so hard to heal was too big, too heavy to carry for 13 miles. That the messages I received congratulating me for finishing were like pity claps; people who felt sorry for me.
Keeping this voice at bay is something that I have struggled with my entire life. I don’t think I’ll ever completely silence it, and that’s ok. I’ve learned that keeping it at a certain volume actually helps me be more productive; that striving to be better is ok, just not at the expense of my happiness or health.
It only becomes a problem when the voice gets so loud that it renders me deaf to my own accomplishments.
That’s what happened on Sunday, and that’s what I needed to get past. Because I actually ran really well for someone who only trained for 8 weeks, who started from ground zero and had to build to 13.1 in two months, and who had never run the distance before, much less in the rain and wind. When I think of it like that, I’m really proud of how I ran, and excited to see how much I can improve when I put in more consistent, healthy training.
Whew. This is going to be a long post, because I haven’t even touched the recap of the race yet! Sorry guys. Let’s dive right in?:
I was super emotional when the gun went off, but I tried to go out in what I thought was a conservative pace. I stayed with the 1:45 pace group through 4 miles, and then I felt good, so I started trying to pick off girls in front of me to keep myself focused. I know I was consistently clicking off 7:50s, and feeling super relaxed doing it, not forcing the pace at all.
Going into mile 8, I still felt really good. We started going up a gradual hill, and I slowed down a little, but I figured that was natural pace adjustment and that when I went downhill it would even out. I was probably right, but I’ll never know, because my watch died about halfway up the hill. I remember audibly cursing, and then deciding that if I could find someone who looked like they were going around the same pace as me, I’d just latch onto them and try to stay near them, and maybe they’d take pity on me and give me a mile split or two.
Looking back, I think I just chose the wrong dude. He did not like me running with him, and he very subtly was picking it up, trying to drop me, the entire time I was near him. I should have cut the cord when I realized this, but I didn’t, because we were catching people and I was feeling better and I remember thinking like, OK this is when the race starts let’s go!!!
After two miles with Dude-Who-Did-Not-Like-Me, I started feeling a cramp coming on. My shoulders were really tight, and I slowed a little to lift my arms over my head, hoping they’d loosen up. When I did, Dude-Who-Did-Not-Like-Me sprinted away from me as fast as he could, and I was alone.
This was when I started to fall apart. I think I really picked it up running those two miles with Dude, and then when I hit mile 10, I just ran out of gas. It was crazy; aerobically, I actually felt ok. I could have held a conversation with the person next to me! But my body was as stiff as a board, my legs just wouldn’t move, and my feet were burning (because, I found out after, I had about 10 blisters from running in the rain).
At that point, I think I was still on 7:50 pace, because I went through 10 miles in an elapsed time of about 1:18:30. A half marathon in 7:50 pace is 1:42:41; I ended up running 1:45:57, slowing down at least a minute a mile in the last 3 miles. It felt like the entire race was passing me; I was literally just watching as all the people I’d used to propel me forward in the first half of the race came back and passed me in the last 5k. I saw the 1:45 pacer go by, and I tried SO HARD to pick it back up and finish with her, but it just wasn’t there.
Looking back, I’m actually proud that I didn’t walk at all in those last three miles, because I really wanted to. But something kept me moving, and I think a big part of it was all the people who had reached out to me the night before to wish me luck. I am so, so grateful to everyone that supported me during this whole process; my family, friends, the running community – which is the best, most supportive group of people out there – and my boyfriend, who had to listen to me rant and vent and complain and cry about this race for the last two months, and who woke up to run with me, sometimes in the rain, more than once.
I’ve already signed up for my next half (Rock N’ Roll Brooklyn on October 8th). I haven’t decided how much more seriously I am going to take it this time around, but I’ll make sure I let you know when I do. 🙂