Are you terminal?

The answer is no, I'm not.  But someone made a bit of a joke about it a few weeks ago when they found out that I was about to embark on my first 1/2 Marathon.  The exact statement was, "Are you sure you're not terminal?"  It was mostly because we had just returned from a dream vacation in Europe and then were planning to run 13.1 miles.  Why?  Just to say we did it.  I say we, but this little endeavor was totally my idea.  It was one of those things that I had always wanted to do, but that I could never get the guts to actually attempt.  I would come up with every excuse from, being too fat, to not having time to train, to not knowing where to start.  You name it, I thought of it.

This time though, I outsmarted myself.  I registered for the race in February.  Yep.  Early-bird registration.  This means that I was committed and had to figure this thing out.  So, I found the training plan, running shoes, running pants and finally a perfect bra configuration, and got things under way.  We ran our short distances during the week and long runs over the weekends.  Side note:  We ended up taking two weeks off for Europe (planned in the training schedule) and another week (unplanned) post-Europe as we both recovered from some gnarly chest colds.  For us, the three week hiatus wasn't the best of ideas, but it was the situation and we made the most of it.

For me, running is about 90% mental and 10% physical.  For some reason, I get it in my head that I can't do it, won't do it, am not built to do it, etc and then I start walking.  I know that I'm strong and cardiovasularly fit and able to do this, but no matter what I told myself, I wouldn't just KEEP GOING.  This was a source of ultimate frustration for Nick, because he is my #1 cheerleader and he knew I could do it.  He'd been trying to tell me for weeks actually, but I refused to listen. 

Three (I think?) weeks before the 1/2 marathon, we had to run about 7 miles.  I had a crappy day and couldn't even finish 3.  Pissed was an understatement.  I knew that I could do it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.  That makes sense in my head.  Nick finished more than I did, but even he didn't get farther than 6 (which to me might as well have been 60). 

The next weekend was the breakthrough that I had so desperately needed.  We ran from the Hills Market, down to Antrim, around the lake and back.  I made it about 7 miles before I had to stop.  Yep!  Seven!  I couldn't believe it.  The next weekend, I was able to do the same route, but add another lap around the lake - all without stopping.  I was so proud that I wanted to cry. 

The following weekend was the race.  I was so nervous and excited and scared all at once.  Of course the weather didn't cooperate with us, and the rain started to come down.  I had started out a little faster than I would have liked, so I ran out of gas a lot sooner than I had wanted.  Originally, I had hoped to run about 10 miles before I would have to start "wogging", but I feel like I didn't make it much past 5 before I had to alternate.  Add to that the rain, and it was a pretty miserable race for me.  The important part though?  I finished.  I jogged across the finish line and completed my goal of 13.1 miles.  The thing that made me mad?  I did it in 3:04.  My goal was under 3:00.  However, I did it.  I finished and didn't allow quitting to be an option. I listened to my body and slowed down when it needed me to.  I allowed myself to enjoy the experience (as much as possible, anyway) and to inspire other people like me who thought that 13.1 miles would never be an option.  I allowed myself to enjoy running.  That in and of itself was the ultimate achievement.

Nick

  Me