competition, the passage of time, and my thoughts on being a half marathon finisher (!!!!)

First thing’s first: I RAN THIRTEEN POINT ONE MILES YESTERDAY AND AM STILL ALIVE AND IN POSSESSION OF BOTH OF MY LEGS.

Unfortunately, I’m also in possession of a blister on my big toe that makes it look as if said toe is trying to give birth to another toe, but luckily for you I have enough self restraint to stop myself from posting gratuitous blister photos and blinding you for life.

YOU’RE WELCOME, GUYS.

Other than the mysteriously horrific blister situation, the half marathon was fucking incredible. I managed to keep my slow and steady pace the entire time, despite the excitement of the race and the fact that I was being passed by people twice my age, twice my size, and everything in between, and I finished strong in 2 hours and 32 minutes, which was 4 minutes under my goal time.

SELF HIGH FIVE!

For the majority of the race, I was having a complete out of body experience. I kept pausing my audiobook (pro tip: audiobooks are my secret to long distance running) to remind myself of where I was and what I was doing, because minutes and miles would go by where I was so in the zone that I’d completely forget. Then, all of the sudden I’d be all, “Dude, you’re actually running a half marathon, like, RIGHT FUCKING NOW” and I’d look around at all of the other people who were running alongside me and behind me and in front of me and think, “OH, THIS IS HAPPENING” and laugh out loud.

Of course, as is true of anything you might try to do for two and a half hours without stopping, some parts of the race were harder than others. The first mile of any long run is always one of the hardest for me, because it takes me a little bit of time to shake off the nerves, find my pace, and settle in for what seems to be an inconceivable amount of time, and this first mile wasn’t any different. Miles 2-4 were fantastic – high energy from the other runners but quiet enough that I could listen to my book – and miles 5 and 6 were solid, too. Miles 7-9 are a little fuzzy to me now, and all I really remember is that at some point, we ran through a long, dark tunnel in which I realized that the tingling sensation on my foot was quickly going from “strange” to “suicide” and that passing the halfway point of the race didn’t really matter if I suddenly lost the ability to move one foot in front of the other.

Somewhere between miles 9 and 10 we hit a sharp uphill bridge that I wasn’t at all prepared for (pro tip: practice running on hills before the race), and I started to seriously consider whether the medical tents along the race route carried replacement toes. Then, after passing the 10 mile mark with the steep bridge behind me, I was all, “Well, every step I take from now on will be the farthest I’ve ever run in my entire life” and that game of this-is-the-farthest-I’ve-ever-run, no, this-is-the-farthest-I’ve-ever-run entertained me and carried me until mile 11. After that, though, I finally had to stop and evaluate the blister situation, peeling off one of the two socks I wear to compensate for having feet that are slightly different sizes, and as I got back on the path with the other runners, extra sock in hand, I found myself in serious pep talk mode.

“Okay,” I thought. “Just two more miles and you can take your shoes off. In fact, make it through these next two miles and you never have to wear shoes ever again in your entire life.” I ran back through the tunnel and thought, “Seriously. You’re almost there. What’s the worst that can happen? The blister pops and your shoe fills with weird liquid? Who cares. YOU NEVER HAVE TO WEAR SHOES AGAIN EVER.”

Mile 12.

“HOLY SHIT YOU JUST RAN TWELVE ENTIRE MILES. TWELVE WHOLE ENTIRE ACTUAL SERIOUS FOR REAL MILES. MILES! LIKE THE KIND YOU DRIVE IN YOUR CAR. AND YOU ONLY HAVE ONE MORE TO GO! ONE MILE. TWELVE MINUTES. YOU CAN DO ANYTHING FOR TWELVE MINUTES. YOU COULD HANDLE BEING VERY PAINFULLY TATTOOED FOR TWELVE MINUTES. JUST KEEP GOING. KEEP GOING AND YOU CAN TAKE YOUR SHOES OFF. SHOES OFF SHOES OFF SHOES OFF. YOU’VE GOT THIS.”

Mile 13.

“Fuuuuuuck. Sprint. Finish line. Barefoot soon. One tenth of a mile. Fast as you can possibly run. GO.”

After I crossed the finish line, I was in a complete daze. Part of me was all, “EEEE! HALF MARATHON! DFGFGHKFGJHF!” but the other part was like, “TOE AMPUTATION!” so I grabbed a bottle of water from one of the volunteers (BEST WATER OF MY LIFE), finally took my shoes off (ORGASMIC BLISS), quasi vomited at the site of my triple blister on top of a blister on top of a blister (SO SEXY) and stretched while waiting for Nicole and Ameena to finish running. While I was stretching, I started thinking about everything I’d done in the past five months of training – how I went from barely being able to run a mile to completing an entire half marathon – and I realized how close I came to never doing this at all.

At the beginning, my biggest hesitation was that it would take me five months to train for the race. I kept complaining to myself about how long five months was, how enormous of a goal this was, and at a few points along the way I seriously thought about quitting because of the enormity of the commitment.

Now that I’m on the other side of it, though, and I’ve successfully given my mother the ability to brag to the old ladies at her church about having a daughter who’s an endurance athlete, the most valuable takeaway lesson I’ve learned is this:

Time moves just as quickly whether you’re doing what you want to do or not. The days, weeks, months, and maybe even years that are separating you from your goal are going to come and go no matter what, so who cares if you’re going to be 25 or 35 or 45 or whatever by the time you graduate from school or switch careers or complete yoga teacher training? You’re going to hit that age anyway, regardless of whether you pursue your dreams, so you might as well just fucking go for it.

I’ve never played on a sports team in my entire life. I’ve never danced or done gymnastics or followed a consistent gym schedule or practiced pilates or done anything physically competitive at all, and I just ran 13.1 mother effing miles farther than my inner critic ever thought I could.

And that’s another thing. The biggest challenge with anything you do is the challenge that happens inside your own head. Like Dr. George Sheehan says, “It’s very hard in the beginning to understand that the whole idea is not to beat the other runners. Eventually, you learn that the competition is against the little voice inside you that wants you to quit.”

So don’t quit. Start the thing you’re always telling yourself you’d do if only it wouldn’t take so long to get to the finish line. Because fuck, it took me over 26 years to get to yesterday’s finish line, and even though I got there throbbing in pain and covered in sweat and blisters, at least running a half marathon isn’t something I’ll have to look back on and think, “Damn, I wish I would have done that.”

Posted in: big giant life list, personal growth and shit, run, baby, run