Official time: 2:32:46!
Don't I look so victorious and non-sweaty in this photo? It's because we took it before I ran. I'm tricky like that.
I arrived in Boise on Friday and stopped to see a friend who just had a baby. Later I met up with a few other friends and we went to a corn maze in the dark which is just as creepy as it sounds. Also, I had a really good excuse to consume mass amounts of pasta and bread. Oh how I love me some carbs...
The next morning I had to pick up my packet and such at 8 a.m. My friend drove the course with me the night before whereupon I said awesome things like, "You call this a hill?" and "I'm going to kick these hills in the vagina!" Over the course of 13.1 miles there were three major hills--the first was gradual over three miles, the second was a baby hill and the third was a crazy ass-kicking hill that has probably sent someone into cardiac arrest at one point. Basically, I was glad I'd trained on hills, but still rather scared.
Before the race I was incredibly nervous. No matter how I looked at it, 13.1 miles seemed like a damn long way. Before the other races I have done (and I've only run three... two 5ks and a 10k) I was nervous but knew that it was only a limited amount of torture. A half marathon meant a couple hours of torture. Scary stuff.
Before I knew it we were lining up at the start. I tend to be ridiculously chatty so I ended up talking to a woman who had a baby five months ago. She hadn't actually trained for this type of distance and told me she'd only done 6 miles at a time. She stuck with me for about a mile and fell back--I hope she finished! She seemed very nice. Anyway, I tend to be okay at pacing myself so I tried to stay at a somewhat slower pace at the beginning in order to not want to die towards the end of the race. I kept seeing things people had dropped--a car key, energy gel, lip gloss... who carries lip gloss with them during a half marathon? I thought that was weird.
By mile three I started to get a little warm (I wore a zip up jacket cause it was f-ing cold and raining) so I became very creative in my methods of unpinning my number and pinning it to my tank top so I could tie my jacket around my waist. I'm amazing. It took some serious skill to do that and continue running, but luckily it distracted me from the torture of the first hill. Before I knew it I was over the first hill and running through a cute little town. Volunteers cheered me on, which was nice of them, and a man stared at my fellow runners and I as if he were wondering what the heck hundreds of people were doing running by his house. That would make a person curious.
Around this point I noticed that I was running behind a giant man. He was ridiculously tall. Also, he and his running buddy kept taking walking breaks so I would catch up to them (slow and steady wins the race, except they totally finished before me but whatever) and just as I would pass them they'd start running again, go super fast, and walk awhile later.
The second hill was tiny (if by tiny you assume I mean only moderately painful) and the next few miles passed by without incident. I chatted with a few old men around me. It's strange but it seems like I always end up with the old men--during the 10k I made friends with an old man and ran with him the whole time.
And then came the third hill... Ah, the torturous third hill. It hurt. It hurt badly. As we began to climb it the view was of the road winding up a gigantic mountain in front of us--I could see people waaaaaay ahead of me reaching the summit. I'm from Oregon; I don't throw the word "mountain" around lightly. The f-ing hill was huge. At one point the road leveled out a bit and I said to one of the old men running next to me, "This is the top, right?" He hesitated, so then I told him to please lie to me. He obliged. Five seconds later I said, "You really are a liar. But I appreciate the effort."
This hill did not mess around. The man I had been speaking proceeded to say, "Oh there will be a nice walk in a minute." In my head my reaction was, "Walking?!?! Pshaw! Walking is for sissies! There will be no walking!" When I was maybe a tenth of a mile from the top of the hill I looked around me and everyone was walking. Not a single person was still running--next to me, in front of me, or behind me. At this point I knew I had to walk. I find no shame in this because it was either walk to the top of the hill or die trying to run just for the point of running. That hill was a bitch.
Finally I did reach the top, and my new friend told me that it really was the top. Also, he warned me that right at the end there was another tiny hill that surprises you but once you are over it the finish line is right there. He was a wise fellow. I believe the third hill ended around mile 8 or 9... Somewhere around this point I noticed that I could hear my arm flab slapping against my side--I'm not saying that to be self deprecating, I just had never noticed that it makes a sound because usually I run while listening to music. During the race I wanted to focus and listen to nature, so I was discovering all kinds of interesting things. So that was fun. I started to wonder what the heck happened to mile 10 because I swear it took awhile to show up, but eventually it did. Miles 10 to 11 were moderately uneventful. There was running. I ran, and ran, and ran. At one of the aid stations the cups were bigger than usual and my attempt to drink whilst running led to me pouring water directly down my shirt, but it was very refreshing so I figure it served the same purpose. Eventually we came back towards town where a nice man had his hose turned on for the runners passing by his yard. Right before mile 12 one of the volunteers yelled, "You have under a mile left!" Either someone didn't inform her what mile marker she was at or she was just lying to us so we'd keep going--either way, it was mean, because then I saw the mile 12 marker and knew it was actually just OVER a mile.
I ran up the final incline and saw the finish in the distance! Woo hoo! That's always my favorite part. I decided to show off and sprinted to the finish, if by sprinting you take it to mean "ran at a slightly quicker pace in order to not look like a turtle could beat me." I saw my cheering squad, which consisted of a few friends and my parents, and raised my arms above my head while yelling, "WOOO! I AM DONE!" Lucky for all of you, they captured me looking happy to be finishing:
After the race I went out on the town with a few friends, and it was then that I remembered why I don't drink very often. Back in my college days I did my fair share of partying and could hold my own when it came to beer drinking. Now, however, I rarely have more than one or two drinks. Even having one drink usually leaves me feeling gross so I tend to just not bother. Last night involved WAY too much booze for me... Today I feel like crap and had to drive seven hours to get home. Unpleasant, to say the least. My night ended like this:
So now I can say I have finished a half marathon. I think that's pretty cool. Also, it was f-ing hard. I feel very badass.
For some reason (I think the adrenaline made me a little insane) I told the cheering squad that I'm going to run the Portland Marathon next October. It went something like this: they asked when I was going to do a full marathon and I responded with, "I don't know... how about next October? That's when the Portland Marathon happens, I think." So now I have basically committed myself to going for the full marathon. I'm just glad I have almost a year to prepare for that one!!!
I finished in 711th place out of 908 people. I'll take it! That means I ran about 11:30 miles and I'm quite happy with that. I finished earlier than I expected and definitely accomplished my only goal (to finish). I'm proud of myself!
