MotherJoggerBlogger: River Bound Race Half Marathon 9/25/10

In addition to enjoying myself while I run as fast as I can for 13.1 miles, I had one more very important goal for the River Bound Race half marathon: don't be late. And by late, I mean, don't arrive at the Whitewater Center at 7:55am to collect my race bib, hop on one foot to the start line while I chip my shoe, wishing I had just one more minute to use the potty.

To ensure that this was not the case on this particular race morning, I knew we (because the whole family was planning to accompany me. After all, it was Stella's 2nd birthday and what better way to celebrate than run a race while the kids run crazy at the site.) would need to leave the house absolutely no later than 7:15. My ever-imporant race routine of downing enough coffee, fueling up with Grape-Nuts, and relaxing was in full effect by 6:30am. Dressed, water bottle full of iced water, pocket full of Clif Shot Bloks, I was ready to go at 7:10. The children, however, acted like sleepy, surly teenagers who did not want to get out of bed. At 7:15, they were up, semi-happy, and loving the idea of a Stella birthday race. At 7:20, they were loaded into carseats. Out of the driveway at 7:22am.

Right on time.

I managed to get my bib and chip and last shot at potty time with little panicked rush. Very quickly I found myself huddled with all the other runners. An announcement was made that the 5kers would begin first; then the half marathoners would make their start five minutes later.

Here I am. Waiting. Waving at the children. Shortly after this moment, the half marathoners positioned themselves to start and with no further adieu, we were off.

Everyone seemed in an awful hurry. I found myself being passed. By everyone. I had a moment of preparation panic. I felt good. I felt strong. But why did all the runners seem so unbelievably speedy? Don't they know how long 13.1 miles is? What's the hurry?

So the first mile was spent in my head, feeling like a complete and utter failure. Why am I so slow? On your left. Again?! Are you $%^&ing kidding me?! I run all the time. Am I that slow? Am I last? On your left, I heard again. If I wasn't last before, I was then.

In actuality, I wasn't last at all. As a matter of fact, as I crested a hill and hit a spot of wide trail, a man behind me said, You've got a good stride. It was just the boost I needed. I am prepared. I am running well. And I am going to enjoy myself, too. And suddenly, one by one, I began to pass all the On your left people. Many of them were now walking. Some clutching their side. I wished them all well, and ran right along.

Here's Heath, chatting with a volunteer. Mark and the kids camped out at a spot on the North Trail and waited to see me. Their sweet faces at 2 miles were a thrill to see.

This is what I looked like as I flew by. A blur of speed. And I will say, at that moment, I was probably running the fastest I've ever run in my entire life. I felt great. Seeing the kids propelled me along at superhero speed. Then I made a mistake. I turned around and saw a pack of about 30 people behind me. Mark saw the same thing. His take was, Wow, she's leading the pack, that's awesome.

My thought. Oh no! Why are all those people behind me? I can't run that fast. Don't I know I have 11 miles to go? The more I thought, the more my stride wavered and broke. The pack passed me. Before I could completely take in the deflated feeling, I watched the pack break off at the 3 miles point. They were 5kers. They headed left. I headed right, confidence reassured, with the other halfers.

Having trained on the course was a huge bonus, too. I knew when the hills were coming, the straightaways to pick up some speed, the downhills to lengthen my stride, and the rockier terrain to stay sure of my footing. I sipped water when I needed it. Ate a Blok at 6 miles, again at 8, and one more at 10. At 8 miles, a sweet girl filled up my water bottle for me. At 10, I ran into a guy that my friend and I met at the Continental Divide Trail Race. At 11, I was still going strong, still feeling good. At 12, I couldn't believe I still felt like I could keep going. At 12.5, one last uphill, I wasn't sure if I could keep going, but I was. Still going.

As I headed into the finish line, I was greeted with familiar hoots and hollers and woo-hoos! Heath shouted, Hey mom, you want a Powerade?!

Yes. Yes, I did want a Powerade.

He gave me a blue one. It was the best Powerade I've ever had in my whole life.