Half Marathon or Bust

I did it. Months ago I committed to running a half marathon. Why? Was I frickin crazy? Is it time to send another urine sample to the....oops, that's another story. Let's say I was going through an experimental stage. Remember the Beatles? "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds". "Norwegian Wood". "Come Together". And what was the story behind lovely Rita the meter maid? Let's just say that we all have our own ways of experimenting. "Hard Days Night" by the way, great song - interesting movie.

After running 23 5k's and increasing my long runs it was time to test my ability to run far. Three years ago that would have meant 1 mile. Now it means 13.1 miles. I have been fortunate in my running career to have friends who have helped mold me from a gut giggling forward leaning tense shoulders scrambler into the runner you see today. What you don't like you can take up with them. Sharon Bertolli and Albert Sanchez, phone numbers and addresses to follow...

Once again I sought their advice and they delivered. My role was to execute on the training plan, continue to eat right, and worth repeating - execute on the training plan. The plan was for 14 weeks. It included runs from 8 to 12 miles, mile sprints, hills that sucked all the air from my lungs and more than once gave me that wonderful warm feeling you get when you throw up in your mouth, tempo runs that pissed me off because they were so hard, and the occasional easy run that is timed at just the right place in the plan to let you recover and believe you can complete the training. Sounds fun doesn't it?

The day before the half I must have looked over my training diary, er log, a dozen times. Reviewing the tough workouts and long runs, telling myself that I was ready. Sleep was hit and miss as nerves crept in and out. On the button the next morning at 5:30 Albert pulled up and we were off. Albert you see was running as well. Not running to race or log a great time. He was running to run next to me for 13.1 miles to help me hit my goal and finish my first half. What does a guy say to that? Wow...thank you...I owe you...you should have your urine tested too...

Once we got downtown we hit the Seattle Center to stay warm and frequent the restrooms. Race nerves make you pee at least a hundred times and given the choice between a warm john and a cold honey bucket, well it's no contest. We got outside after the half marathon walk started and bam, the line from the start was already blocks long. We stepped in and there was zero room to move. Probably 5000 runners in front of us. The horn sounded and we were off. Actually for about 2 minutes we didn't even move. It took us nearly 6 minutes to get to the start line.

Finally we hit the start line and were off. Not exactly a fast pace. It was so crowded we jogged most of the first couple miles - that doesn't help when one is trying to achieve a certain time (yes yes, I had a goal - go figure). I'll save the metrics for the end for those of you who don't care or are starting to nod off. The first 5-6 miles were pretty good. Albert was right there reminding me to stay relaxed and not worry about the pace, just to keep running.

Mile 7 was coming. I had heard about "the hill" that wipes people out. We ran it easy. That's due to the hill puking training I had been doing for the past five weeks. My friends knew what they were talking about. I might not have always liked my friends during those training runs but I sure loved them when I crested the hill. It was the first time I was passing people on a hill!! Renewed confidence hit me and we sailed. Pain and fatigue however soon came and welcomed me like an old friend. Albert told me the pain would pass, "just let it go and keep running". Huh? Did he know how much I was hurting? He was right, it went away. They say when you're in a coma you don't feel pain, I'll vouch for that.

Miles 8-11 were tough. Uphill...downhill...uphill...flat...uphill. EVERY time we hit a hill Albert told me it was the last one. Funny guy. Then it happened. Right around 12.5 miles I felt like I was fading. It was about the same time we ran past a guy sprawled out on the street with medics around him. Albert's comment was that the guy was half my age. Motivating or scary - you decide. Metric check - My heart rate monitor showed miles 9-13 my heart rate ran from 97-102% of max...Anyway, I was fading. Had nothing. Albert looked at me and all I could say was I think I'm done. Bless him. He did what any good friend would do. He began to let me have it. Get moving...push it...you trained for this...no giving up...you're almost there...run....there's the stadium just ahead. I kept moving (later realizing our pace was 8:00 for those last 3 miles). The last minute came the hardest push and we blitzed a 6:35 sprint for the final. Seeing the finish line was huge and the feeling I had crossing it is hard to describe. All the training, the hard work, everything lead to that moment. Albert - I can't thank you enough for all you did, for the support mile after mile. For running back to the Gu station when I ran past it and then catching up and giving me the boost.

Receiving the finishers medal meant more to me than just finishing a race. It had been a journey. A journey of ups and downs. Of celebrations and self doubt. In the end it was a message to myself that the only thing that can limit me is me. And I'm not ready to be limited to anything and like the Beatles said, anything is possible "With a little help from my friends"....

Metrics: Finished in 1:56:24. The first three miles averaged a pace of 10:34, miles 4-13 averaged 8:26, and 11-13 averaged 8:02. I finished in the top 25% overall yet only in the top 35% of the old guys division (50-54). Will I do another half? Hard to say, I'll let you know when I'm finally out of my coma...