Haven't done a 1/2 marathon in a while and so was rather easily talked into this one. For the record: BEST race swag ever. The "goody bag" was actually one of those reusable canvas shopping totes. I am all about the practical swag.
I did the usual in prep for this 1/2. Maybe a little less freaking out, for some reason, but my training somehow survived without it. Woke up at 5:30 a.m. this morning, which I loved. I love waking up early, even more so if it's actually still dark out. It gives me this feeling of ownership of my day as I physically witness it begin in nature. And the peace, the solitude, the tranquility of the city at that hour. It is something I have loved for a long, long time. Alarm went off and I allowed myself one press on the snooze button before throwing off the covers and launching myself out of bed. I prayed for a minute, then got up and threw on the running clothes I set out last night. Picked up my newspaper from right outside my door (the best luxury $2.50 can buy is home delivery of the Sunday paper), made some coffee, and skimmed the front page section while eating my customary race morning bagel. Just after 6:00 a.m. I gathered my things and headed out. I love that feeling of purpose that comes with leaving my house so early on a weekend morning. Call me crazy, but leaving that early reminds me that I'm gonna accomplish something, whether it's a run, a trip, or something much more mundane.
It is still drizzling when I arrive at the race start. After accidentally waving frantically at someone who I thought was Ben, I finally find him in the parking lot and we hang out in his truck. We shoot the breeze and talk about everything from country music to gang violence to best races t-shirts. That's what makes Ben the person you wanna hang out with before a race!
Soon it's time to get to the start line. It's lightly misting, but actually kind of pleasant. Ben & I chat and make jokes. I notice that the majority of the crowd is half my age and twice my speed. And then we are off. The crowd very quickly thins out as we run through quiet residential streets of Newton. The houses are breathtaking, and I spend mile after mile gazing at huge, old Victorians, sprawling moderns, and classic colonials. The stained glass windows and ornate porches and dormers and spires hold my attention. We pass the reservoir as fog lifts from its surface. It is quiet, damp and peaceful this Sunday morning. A few people have come out to cheer, but in general it's a serene morning in Newton.
It's a very challenging course. Hill after hill after hill. We run through neighborhoods I'm very familiar with - they are less than a mile from my house, and they are the streets I often run on Sunday mornings. But usually, I am alone. Today, I am surrounded by a sea of spandex.
Race highlights include a little kid playing the drum in his front window as we pass by, a runner wearing spandex bike shorts meant to look like acid-washed jeans, and a bright yellow toilet in the middle of someone's front lawn. Seriously, it is not everyday you see a multi-million dollar Newton house with a crapper in the garden. It made me laugh out loud.
The race is hard. I walk for several short segments, and my legs hurt. My back hurts. I have a cramp. I am not miserable, but I've had better runs. I talk briefly with a guy who looks familiar, but we discover we don't know each other. Nonetheless, I appreciate the company. Later on, .5 miles from the finish, this very same guy cheers me on when I slow to a walk. "C'mon, keep it going, keep it going, you can do it", he calls out to me. I pick up my pace, running again, counting the tenths of a mile til the end. It is this anonymous man's encouragement that pushes me to the finish line.
I see the end and give it my all, crossing the finish line with my heart pounding. Tired. Done.
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