Revel Rockies - July 19, 2015

You could probably call this the race that almost wasn't. In fact, for many half marathoners, this race actually wasn't, but not for me. The race was officially cancelled about 10 minutes before the half was supposed to start, but I ran it anyway... Let me explain...

A couple of years ago, I met an ultra runner whom I greatly admire. She's strong, she's tough. She's much faster than me, but I'm not sure she would be called elite. She is absolutely elite in my eyes, but that's because she's such a running beast. On top of that, she's supportive... even for a turtle like me. When I heard about the Revel Rockies race near her home in Denver Colorado, I asked if I could plan a trip to visit. And soon, another friend of mine decided to make the trip to Colorado with me to also run the race.

Having lived in Florida for the past 10 years, and having had asthma for the greater part of my life, and having heard horror stories about altitude and having experienced altitude issues myself while in Utah last summer, I knew that I needed to plan accordingly. I didn't have a lot of time, but the plan was to fly to Denver on Thursday, accompany my 2 friends to Aspen and spectate the Aspen Marathon, thus allowing time to acclimate. Then one Sunday, we would meet up with another friend flying in from California, and we would run the Revel Rockies Race.

The best laid plans...

Unfortunately, although packet pickup was smooth and seamless, race morning was an absolute disaster. The race was point to point starting at the top of a canyon, so we had to meet busses early in the morning to take us from parking to the starting line. My friend from Colorado was running the full marathon so she had to meet her bus earlier than the rest of us, so we arrived at the parking lot super early. We waited in the car after she left to catch her bus, then we saw a line starting to form for the half marathon buses. It was bitter cold, but we donned our plastic bags and went to stand in line for the buses.

During the next hour or so, I only saw a total of 5 buses, and they were all for marathoners. We waited and waited. We knew it was about a 20-30 minute drive to the starting line and we all started to get antsy when we knew that start time was fast approaching and the buses still never came. It was like Waiting for Godot. about 15 minutes before the race was scheduled to start, one of the volunteers came to tell us that they were trying to figure out the game plan because the buses never came, and they would update us. Less than 2 minutes later, we watched in shock as we saw all of the people in front of us scatter and start running back to their cars. We looked around confused for a few minutes, unsure of what was happening and meandered to where the front of the line had been. And on the way, my Florida friend learned through a post on the event organizer's facebook page that the half marathon had been cancelled.

I was in shock. I think had I not been so cold and tired, I might have been more upset, but at first, I just stood there dumbly. Until the frustration set in. I had spent a LOT of money on airfare, and expenses. I had taken unpaid time off of work. I had acclimated (although not well because I really wasn't feeling well). I didn't want to accept cancelled as an answer.

I'm not officially a member of the 50 state half marathon club yet (though I plan to be before the end of the year), but they have some guidelines for what counts as a race. As a member of half fanatics, there are other guidelines. My friends and I quickly brainstormed what we would have to do in order to be able to still run a half marathon and have it count for both clubs. We tried to rope others to drive with us to what should have been the start of the race, and run it with us anyway... But they wouldn't.

Eventually, we learned that if we could get ourselves to what should have been the start line within the next hour, we could still run, although we still didn't know whether our times would count, whether we would be entitled to course support, and whether we would get medals at the finish. We didn't know whether others were running the course also, so we didn't know if there would be the required 20 starters that the half marathon clubs require. But we were willing to gamble.

We piled into the rental car and drove to the start line, leaving our car in a frozen yogurt stand parking lot. We would worry about the logistics of retrieving it later. We looked what should have been the starting line and saw that there were others with the same idea.

We jumped on the course and started running.

My race was off from the start. As a back of the packer, I knew that I might be without other half marathoners for most of the course anyway, but with no real pack, I was literally on my own from the word go. Although there was a bit of a crowd (the same logistics that cancelled the half marathon messed up the full marathon and the crowd was really small), I never actually felt like I was running a half marathon.

Instead, I was left feeling like I was doing a 13.1 mile training run, crashing the course of the full marathon. The course was gorgeous, but I was too sick and dizzy from the altitude to really enjoy it to the fullest. Other runners would pass me and realize that I was a half marathoner and ask what had happened, but I didn't really know. All I knew was that I was on my own... and it was tough.

I saw a lot of people struggling out there. After the sun came up, it went from bone-chilling cold to brutally hot, and a lot of people were unprepared. I think a lot of people also underestimated the altitude. I know I certainly did.

Although I had allowed myself to acclimate, I stupidly thought that I might even PR this race because it was almost entirely downhill and was billed as a really fast course because of the altitude decline... but instead, it was the opposite. By mile 9, I was nursing a really ferocious headache. By 10, I was dizzy and nauseous. By 11, I felt like a jackhammer was splitting my skull open. By 12, I was delirious. I sat down on a guardrail to catch my breath and contemplated the race. I wanted to finish more than anything. But I also knew that I was sick. I took a selfie and realized that my lips were turning blue.

I quickly did a little math in my head. I'm no mathematician, and considering how out of it I was, I'm not sure how accurrate this was, but I remember thinking I had at least another hour for the course to remain open (if I was allowed to finish the race considering that technically I was a bandit on a cancelled half marathon). I weighed my options. If I quit due to the altitude (which would have been a respectable quit in retrospect), I would have to spend all that money again. I would have to acclimate to the altitude again. I would have to do the entire race again... and it just wasn't worth it.

So I sucked it up. I finished, but that last mile took me a ridiculously long time... almost a half hour to be exact. The course was kind of jacked in that it ran a little long, and the final stretch was back uphill after a steep and steady decline through the canyon. That seemed a little sneaky to me, but who I was I to complain.

I crossed the finishline, and immediately sought out medical. I've never seen a setup like this before. Medical was not immediately at the finishline, you had to go over a guardrail and down a little hill to get to them... and I didn't see them immediately and started to panic... which of course only heightened my problems. Another runner saw that I was in distress and escorted me to medical. Where I promptly took a breathing treatment and sat for awhile on oxygen. I think that I might suggest that should this race series return to Colorado they revisit their setup for finishline. food trucks do not need to be immediately on top of the finishline, medical DOES.

In the end, although it was a rocky start, and although I never really felt like I got the experience I was looking for, it was a state that I finished. Not every race can be excellent and run smoothly... But I finished, and that's all that counts. There will be other races on other days.

Gun = 4:52:28
Chip = 3:48:31
Pace = 17:26/mile

Weston Rotary Run for Tomorrow Half Marathon- December 14, 2014

This is another one of those races that I really don't have a lot to say about... I'm going to try to share a little about this race, but feel free to skim past this mediocrity. The mediocrity doesn't come from the writing (I hope), but instead was palpable throughout the event. I feel horrible saying that, but I can't find any other words to really express my thoughts about this race.

I wasn't really expecting all that much from a race that was put on by a local rotary club. My mother has been a Rotarian for most of my teenage and adult life, and I was a Rotarian for a couple of years when I was finishing my Masters degree and beginning my Ph.D... I loved Rotary for what it provided me in terms of leadership training, community service opportunities, and the more global attitude that it seemed to foster in me. I don't love it for what it provides in a road race though.

It was a last minute decision to register for the Weston Rotary Run for Tomorrow Half Marathon. I wanted to get one more half marathon under my belt before the end of the calendar year, and this seemed to fit into my schedule perfectly. I knew it would be a smaller race, and was excited for that, because I expected that at a Rotary event I would get the kind of course support that I am fond of... you know... the kind that is actually existent... without having to deal with the massive crowds at the other local race that was happening that same day.

My friend Seth chose to run the event with me, but when I say "with me" that doesn't mean stride-for-stride matching. What I actually mean here is that we drive together, hang out at the start line together, we each run our own race, then he meets me at the finishline when I am done.

The field was really small. and normally that wouldn't have bothered me, but I was having a slow start day. The first 3 miles (aka, until the sun came up), my vision was constantly being disturbed by the police cruiser that was following directly behind me because I was the last in the pack. After the sun came up, I managed to pick up a little speed and put some pace between me and the last finisher, but I wasn't able to maintain my status of "not-last for long."

It was a gorgeous day, and although it was a little warmer than I would normally like, I wasn't really worried about the weather. What bothered me though is that the race was hosted in a town that is well-known in South Florida for it's affluence and the amount of money that is spent manicuring the perfect little entries of all of the perfect little gated communities. This means (and I don't know why it didn't occur to me until the middle of the race), that there was no shade to be found, and the views bored me half to death because all I saw over and over again was variations of the exact same landscaping. I was bored out of my mind, and I slowed down because of that.

By mile 8, I soon found that I was back of the pack again... this doesn't bother me normally, but the cruiser who was at the tail end of the pack wouldn't give me the space that I needed, and was right on my heels the entire time. So of course, I was happy when at mile 9, the officer in the cruiser asked if I was ok, then proceeded to leave me out there on the course myself. Guess her shift was over? I don't know.

Like I said, I was happy to have a little more space to do my own thing, but that happiness was short lived. Apparently, when the cruiser passed me, the people at the aid stations determined that the race was already over, so I went without course support for the last 4 miles. No water is ok for some folk, but not back of the packers who have no shade and who are in a concrete jungle in South Florida. I was also left to my own devices to cross major intersections on my own. I had to stop for traffic, and when I say major intersections, think 3 lanes each direction.

As I rounded the corner and came to the finishline area, I knew there was something wrong. I was well within the mandated time frame for finishers, but I could tell that the finishline was basically already packed up. From a distance, I could tell that my friend Seth was having a heated conversation with one of the timing officials. I later learned that he basically had to argue with the officials to prevent them from packing up and leaving me out there on the course entirely. They must have been in a rush? I don't know.

I finished. It wasn't pretty. I did it without the support that I should have had, and the support  that I paid for. It was another race to add to the tally for 2014, but I won't be returning.

Gun 3:31: 55
Net: 3:30:50
Pace 16:05/mile

Beach Beast - June 14, 2014

I've been dragging my feet on writing this race recap. I really like to find the silver lining in events and give people the benefit of the doubt, but no matter how I cut it, this event was a flop.

Here's the thing, when Beach Beast did their first event out in Tampa last summer, I had some friends who participated in it and absolutely loved it. They were not big into OCRs or Mudruns, they were more Crossfit type of people. They enjoyed the run, they gave the event and the promoter rave reviews, and all was fine and dandy. So we signed up for it last year.

If you recall, last years event was not so great. I was very generous in my race recap from that event but the reality was that all of the obstacles were cramped into the very beginning of the event or the very end of the course, there was no water to be found despite being on the beach in Ft. Lauderdale in early April, the obstacles were falling apart and posed a hazard to many people as they broke down from all the foot traffic, and it was just kind of a hot mess. Trying to find a silver lining, I believed the promoter when he claimed that a number of the problems came from a concert that was about to be set up at the same location which had their equipment delivered ahead of time. I had no reason to not believe them.

That being said, I hadn't planned to run another one of their events. And I wouldn't have, except that husbeast made a charitable donation to an organization late last summer and in return we got two complementary entries to this years Miami Beach Beast Event. I knew not to expect much, but my hopes were a little higher than they should have been because we were reassured that this year's event would be in a better location meaning we would have better support.

And of course, although my hopes weren't all that high, the let down was still immense. After last year's mess up, I would have thought that they had learned some lessons and would right some of their wrongs. But wishful thinking, I guess. Afterall, eventhough last year neither mine nor my husband's timing chips worked, at least this year, we would have the ability to be timed on a course, right?

Wrong. No timing chips this year, essentially making it a 5K fun run (except it wasn't really 5K either, but I'm getting ahead of myself) But that's ok, it could have still been a gorgeous event at the beach, in an absolutely gorgeous location.

Wrong again. The new venue was the Historic Virginia Key Park, which is an absolutely gorgeous location that many runners, bikers, and triathletes adore so I had high hopes for at least that component of the event. Yet the event was held primarily in dirt parking lots and along an area of the bay which had less beach and more seaweed than anyone could ever imagine. For an event that claims to be a "beach run" It would have been nice to be on a beach area for more than maybe a 10th of a mile. This area of coastline was also about a "beach-ish" strip that was probably no more than 5 feet wide and covered with seaweed and other debris, so not much for beach. I have to say that I got far more sand on me while weaving back and forth through a dirt parking lot. Yes, you read that right... But once more for good measure:

Weaving. Back. And. Forth. Through. A. Dirt. Parking. Lot.

Seriously, you have a beautiful park that you could run the course through yet you put flags out on a dirt lot to weave back and forth through to increase the overall distance to a 5K? Well nice try, but the distance wasn't even close to a 5K. But I guess that can be overlooked, because there were obstacles right? Yeah, lets talk about that.

They used a different builder for the obstacles this year than last year, so they were slightly different. I found the obstacles last year to be far more challenging, though a few of them managed to break from the weight of people jumping on them repeatedly. There were less obstacles, and because I am not a huge fan of getting splinters in my butt, I am not about to climb a wall and slide down a large piece of plywood to get to the other side. I guess that could have been easily done by other people, but being the Klutz that I am, I just went around. So that left me with a sand crawl that was less than 15 feet long, a knee-up area which barely required me to pick my feet up off the ground, a large laddered wall that I actually liked but didn't find challenging at all (other than the fact that it was fairly tall and I feared falling), and a couple other obstacles that clearly made a lasting impression because I can't remember them to save my life.

I walked the whole event, which I hadn't planned on doing, but decided was in my best interest after we arrived to find out that there was not only no water anywhere on the course, but no water at the finish line either. Sure they had Celsius as a sponsor and they were out there giving away free energy fizzy drinks, but this is NOT a replacement for water. HELLO, this is JUNE in SOUTH FLORIDA. the temperature was hovering well over 90 degrees, and the humidity was up in the high 80s percentage wise.

SO. NOT. SAFE.

You know what else isn't safe?

Doing a race in the sun and the heat of South Florida without providing water, and NOT having a medical team on site. I'm always super attuned to where medical is at events, that's just the safe practice... and not once did I see a medical tent, an ambulance or any representative from the Miami Dade Fire Rescue.

No excuse.

Not impressed. And wont be making the same mistake again. Promise. NEVER AGAIN.

The promoter Eric F. Peer has not been available for comment through the facebook event for this race. Maybe he's still hanging out with the medical team and the water?

But I did get this great picture with my friends Meredith and Khalimah, so that's a plus, right?

Singer Island Half Marathon - April 27, 2013

I have been avoiding writing about the Singer Island Half Marathon on April 27th for a number of reasons.

1) it was an awful experience.
2) it was a personal worst for me, and almost led to a DNF (did not finish), and probably should have been a DNS (did not start), if I am honest with myself looking back.
3) I was so messed up during this race, I don't remember great big portions of it (like the fact that my running partners had to remind me multiple times how gorgeous the course and the weather was).
4) I was so messed up after the race that I was sad, self-depreciating, and really would have rather forgotten.

But in the end, I write today because there are some take-aways from this experience that I could put to use next time to ensure that I never had to relive another experience quite so bad again.

The night before this race, I felt significantly under-prepared for my final half of the spring season. I posted to facebook that I felt under-trained, and I suppose I should have. I had just come off of a 5 day trip to Spokane, Washington and had only managed 2 training runs and a 5K race between my prior half marathon (which was a PR), and this one. What's more, I had just decided to start eating differently than I had been in recently (I will be posting a separate entry about this later, just note that while I felt like I had a ton of energy on a day-to-day basis, I wasn't sure how to properly fuel for this race). Lastly, the Singer Island half was fairly far from home and required an overnight trip. Brina graciously offered me her spare bedroom, but I have been known to under-hydrate when I am not at home... something that I am sure contributed to the problems I had during the race.

I woke up early the morning of the race, and donned the great "we are Boston" tribute shirt that Brina, Juanita and I had made up to run this race in tribute to the victims of the Boston Marathon bombing. I wasn't hungry (as I hadn't been since starting to eat differently), I choked down a banana but couldn't stomach even the thought of my usual pre-race bagel. Instead Brina made me a piece of whole grain toast with peanut butter. Mistake number 1.

Before leaving the house, I heard the sprinklers outside, and thought it was raining. I was half hoping, that it was raining so we could back out of this race. My heart just wasn't into it, and I recognized that... but I also knew I was running for Boston. So I sucked it up, and we were out the door.

The race had a later start time than I am used to, so the sun was already on its way up when we started. As this was the last run for us for the season, Juanita chose to run at my pace (along with Brina), with the goal that they might be able to push me to a new PR (hoping to break the 3:15 mark so I could prove my time for Disney and move up a corral in my Marathon in January). It definitely didn't happen that way, but that was the plan.

The course was straightforward (so it seemed) with the first mile and a half being an out and back over the Singer Island Bridge that crosses the intracoastal, then north until we hit approximately 6 miles, then return to the bridge, over and back again, then an additional couple of miles through a cute neighborhood at the end. But seeming fairly straightforward and being fairly straightforward are two totally different things. And something was really off for me.

Our game plan was to run intervals to the base of the bridge, walk up the bridge, run down (letting gravity do the work, repeat on the return trip, then run intervals until we hit the bridge for our second out and back. By the time we hit the top of the bridge the first time, I was having trouble catching my breath. I took double doses of my inhaler, but it wasn't seeming to work. My heart was beating out of my chest and I was worried. We ran down the reverse side, then began the ascent again. Once again, I was winded, light-headed and my chest hurt. We tried to let gravity work coming off the bridge on the return trip, but I couldn't catch my breath.

We started to walk. I hadn't even hit mile 2 and I had to give up entirely on running, meaning we walked the next 11 miles. During that time, I never caught my breath. I never stopped being dizzy. My heart never stopped beating out of my chest. I was sweating profusely. And I was getting angry. My running partners were talking about how beautiful a day it was and how they wanted to go faster because they weren't even breaking a sweat and I was drenched.

I was really gassy and my stomach also really hurt. By mile 6, I was nauseous. Whereas normally I am chatty when I am on walking (either on intervals or in general), I found myself getting very quiet and closed off. And I felt the ailments mounting.

By mile 7, I was throwing up... although instead of dry heaves, it was purely liquid coming up. Waves and waves and waves of liquid. Yuck. So I tried to push more fluids and more electrolytes (in the form of nuun tabs in the water).

By mile 8, I was beginning to have severe cramping in my calves. Every step was excruciating. We were exponentially losing speed, and I was afraid we wouldn't finish in the 4 hour time limit. I've never taken over 3:36 to finish a half, but I was beginning to worry. And I worried that I was irritating my partners. I begged them to go along and leave me behind. At least they should still get good times...

But they wouldn't leave me. And at mile 9, while passing some park benches, I don't know what came over me. I just sat my sorry butt down. I called Brina and Juanita back to me and told them to go along without me, that I was ok with taking a DNF.

Seriously I said that. I said I was ok with not finishing and having someone just come and get me. Who does that?

And what was worse was that (and I had to be told about this later because I didn't actually remember it), while I was sitting there, I told Brina that I had been hoping it would rain so that we could stay at her house and hang out on the couch eating ice-cream all day. OK, what kind of alien life form was invading my body???

After going around and around about how I was giving up, Brina and Juanita got fierce with me and reminded me that I was wearing a Boston shirt, and the pain I was dealing with was nothing compared to what the bombing victims were dealing with in the hospitals. Well, when you put it that way... even I saw the hypocrisy in my giving up at that point.

So I got up and forced my body to keep going. By the time we hit the bridge the second time, I didn't think my calf cramping could get worse. But by then we were already at mile 10, and I had rationalized almost being done with the race. There was still one man behind us on the course, and as long as we kept moving, we could keep it that way.

On the return trip across the bridge, I was so dizzy, I frequently had to grab the railings to keep from falling over. The last place runner passed us on the down hill, and Brina (frustrated to find that we were the last 3 finishers) started to pick up her pace. I love Brina and do not resent her one bit for doing this, but I was freaked out to see her speeding up while I just kept slowing down and having more and more problems.

In the last mile, We had a police officer fall in behind us with his cruiser and give us an escort. Brina waited for us at the 13 mile mark so that we could do the final tenth of a mile together. The home stretch of the race was through a side street lined with bars and restaurants. The plan was for us to jog that home stretch and finish as strong as possible, but my body had a different idea. People in the bars were cheering for us, jumping up and down because we were the final finishers and I think that Brina and Juanita were somewhat embarrassed. I was embarrassed for them too. But I wanted to finish as strong as possible.

And I did. At least until I was about 5 feet from the finish line when my cramping calves finally called it quits. And just like this girl who hit a wall at her high school track championships (go to 1:31), I felt my calf muscles give out. I was so close that if I could have gotten just a little spring in my step I might have been able to throw myself over the finish line, but I didn't have the energy. Thankfully Juanita and Brina were there to catch me as I went down. It was like slow motion, and I saw finish line officials stepping over the finish line to help grab me, and medics reaching for me. The crowd was cheering loudly. I just wanted to crawl into a hole and hide... then pass out.

As soon as I was over the finish line, I was whisked into a tent and given some fruit and water and shade. I was embarrassed and exhausted and out of breath and cramping and nauseous and dizzy and a hot ball of mess.

I was ok with being the last finisher in this race and had joked with Juanita about who would take it, but in the end, I didn't have much of a choice. She was behind me holding me up as she handed me off to medical, causing her to finish last in the race. I didn't want that for her. She deserved better than that.

In the end though, last or second to last doesn't much matter.

We finished. And for me, that was all that mattered (particularly when I had been so sure we wouldn't finish in the first place).

Looking back, I realize that sometimes finishing strong means only comparing yourself to what you yourself are capable of. Did I finish strong by my normal standards? Absolutely not. Did I do the best I could with what I had to finish as strong as possible? I can answer that with a resounding yes.

HFs Brina, Me, Juanita and Seth at the finish

As a side note, I continued to suffer from the shortness or breath, cramping, nausea, heart palpitations, and dizziness for an additional 36 hours and I *did* go to the doctor the following Monday. I am fine now but now know the importance of eating right and properly hydrating as an ongoing issue, particularly when being a distance runner.

My stats on this race were awful, but for the sake of documenting, here they are:

Gun: 3:51:39
Chip: 3:51:12
Pace: 17:38
Sex: 228/229
OA: 382/383
Cat: 35/35

Sunshine State Half Marathon - February 23, 2013

The running season in South Florida lasts from approximately September/October through April/May, with a hiatus in the hotter months because running would be unbearable. That being said, I recognized that if I wanted to reach my goal of 13 half marathons in 2013, I would have to get at least half of them in before the break for the summer.

That meant registering for smaller half marathons, which I potentially didn't know much about.

And that meant a lot of research.

The Sunshine State Half Marathon in West Palm Beach, FL repeatedly turned up on my radar, and I thought I might like to give them a shot.

I think part of what excited me about Sunshine State was that it was so small. This would be a good opportunity to go out there with a really small group of people (less than 500), run, and have a good time, without having to worry about being jostled off the course or taking an elbow to the chin by a power-walker with bad form. I also liked the fact that because it had a 6:30 AM start time (whereas other races had much earlier start times), which meant that while we did have to stay over at grandma's house the night before, we wouldn't have to leave the house at 3 am to get to the start line.

The course map for Sunshine State

Which is a great idea in theory.  But then when you consider the fact that this is South Florida and thus we had to contend with South Florida sun, that this race course followed the intracoastal and thus there was no shade from the sun for nearly the entirety of the race, and the fact that the heat can get downright brutal once the sun comes up... starting a race at 6:30 AM wound up being a huge flaw in their planning.

Me with fellow Half Fanatics, Juanita and Bobby

Arriving at 6:30 AM felt fairly good at the time though. I had made plans to meet up with some other members of Half Fanatics for a pre-race photo near the start line before the race, so this was exciting. Ray and I also ran into Tracey, whom we met through friends when we participated in the Run For Your Lives Zombie 5K. We got some obligatory photos then Half Fanatic Juanita and I went to the starting corral and waited for the race to start.

It was then that I had my first problem of the day.  I went to turn on my ipod to listen to one of my favorite running playlists (that I am not ashamed to admit consists of a lot of Lady Gaga, Pink, and Britney), and I got the beeps of death, signaling that I had less than 5 minutes battery time. Some idiot (me) forgot to charge the blasted thing, and I was devastated to learn I would be running this race sans music. I thought back to a couple of 3-5 mile training runs that I did without music and remembered how in tune I was with both my body and my breathing.

I had a choice. Either I could run without music, or not run at all. My shoes were already on, and I was already there. Running without music seemed like the lesser of 2 evils. Besides, how bad could it be?

Famous last words.

Because there is a noise ordinance in downtown West Palm Beach, there was no National Anthem or gun to get us started. One of the race directors just stood at the starting line and urged us to get a move on. And like that, we were moving. My new friend Juanita quickly pulled away from me, but I was expecting that.

What I wasn't expecting was the amount of pain my feet were immediately in. Like my last half marathon experience (which left me with swollen feet and ankles for 3 days and off my feet for almost a full week), the arches of my feet felt like they were getting hulk-smashed with a sledgehammer with every step I took. I had finally had an appt with an orthopedic who suggested wearing compression sleeves on my lower legs, and that seemed to help a little with immediate swelling and later recovery, but during the run, the pain was still really bad.

The course was interesting. From the start line, half marathoners ran 1.5 miles north, then 1.5 miles back to the start line, then continued along south until they reached the 8.5 mile turn around, then runners returned for the final stretch north again. There were multiple events taking place that morning, with a 5k starting 1 hour after the half marathon. The 5k course ran south from the startline for 1.5 miles, then turned around and returned to the finish line. This posed an interesting situation for slowpokes like me.

A quick pic with Ray at the 3 mile mark

I ran the first stretch of 1.5 miles north, then 1.5 miles south, but on the way, I passed the finish line, which meant that I passed the finish-line party, the refreshments, the people enjoying their medals, the music and the food. It also meant that I got to pass my awesome husband (who I paused briefly to take a quick photo with because I love him so much)... but for the most part, passing the finishline was just a tease.

Then for the next 1.5 miles south, I was running opposite direction from all of the 5k finishers who were flying past me. The pack had spread out enough that I could barely see the woman in front of me, and I thought that I was at the end... and I felt alone. And it didn't feel good to see people already finishing (even if they were just finishing a 5k), when I wasn't even an hour into my race.

And of course, because I didn't have music to distract me, I couldn't get out of my own head and stop with the negative self-talk.

Then my interval timer started acting up. Without any music, and without a working interval timer to keep me on pace, I had to resort to counting steps as motivation to keep going. I was falling further and further behind pace, I was running straight into the wind, so I felt my body working far harder than normal to gain less and less distance. And then with the sun being up, and without any shade, I began to lose steam quickly.

It was time for water.

Except that the water and aid stations were WAY too far apart.

And then the water came in the form of 82Go, essentially purified water which is packaged in sealed plastic pods, rather than in bottles. This water is great in theory, but in application it is far from perfect. In order to get the water out of the bags you must use your fingers to tear a corner, or you must use your teeth (which mom always scolded us about doing). Breaking open the bag means that water flies out all over the place. This wouldn't be a problem, except that the water has a distinct taste (and smell) that is a cross between petroleum, chemicals, and poison. I am sensitive to many smells, and one smell of this water the first time it shot all over me when I was puncturing a bag was enough to turn my stomach.

But I knew I was dehydrating fast. It was close to 85 degrees out, and I was running straight into a headwind. I cant drink a lot of full flavor electrolyte drinks because it hurts my stomach, so I had no choice but to try this water (which smelled like toxic waste).

And that was a horrible mistake. 2 sips had me doubled over with my stomach in revolt. Yuck. Vomiting on top of dehydration sucks. A lot.

I slowed down even more. I could barely keep propelling myself forward. But I knew I only had a couple more miles before the final turn around. And if I got that far already, I should just keep going. So I did. And my asthma started really acting up. At the turn around (at 8.5 miles), I gave up my running intervals altogether, and decided to walk the rest of the way back.

And I became acutely aware that I was on my own. I was still within the maximum time limit of 16 minutes per mile, but I didn't have much room to play. I was past the point of wanting to beat my personal best... my goal was just to finish. But that became more and more difficult as I passed places where I knew that there were supposed to be aid stations, and the volunteers were gone and they didn't have any fluids or support available for me.

I was angry. If a race advertises that they have a time limit of 16 minutes per mile, the volunteers and support need to stay in place for all entrants to have support.... not just the fast ones. I felt as if they took my money for registration, but didn't uphold their end of the bargain. Adding insult to injury, at mile 10, I was told by a police officer that I needed to get off the street and onto the sidewalk so that they could re-open the roadways for traffic. I was still within my time limits, but I was being cast aside. I was frustrated.

I just wanted to finish, and be done with this course, and the disorganization of the event.

At mile 12, I began to pass people who were participating in the 3rd event of the day... an untimed 5K walk to raise money for a homeless support program. Although this meant that I now had to contend with people walking 5-10 abreast in the opposite direction as me, this was good news. This actually meant that I had race support available to me once again, and would have access to poison-water (i was desperate and would have drank straight from the intracoastal if someone had handed me a cup).

When I rounded the final curve and saw the finish line, I saw my husband standing at the front of the chute. He knew something was wrong and met me on the course asking if I was ok.

Eventhough the goal was to finish and at this point, it didn't matter whether I got help at the finish or not, I was reminded of this inspirational video (which is inappropriately titled "very funny marathon finish" because really, is more inspirational than funny, or maybe even more scary than funny).



I wanted a clean finish. But I felt my body failing me. I told ray that I needed him to stay with me and stay close, ready to catch me if I fell, but to not touch me. This was something that I needed to do for myself, by myself.

And as I crossed the finishline, adding insult to injury, I heard the MC announce me as one of the "first finishers for the 5k fun walk." I guess that sounds less embarrassing than being announces as one of the last finishers to the half marathon, but I didn't see it that way. I did the same 13.1 mile course as the other half marathoners out there. I thought I deserved the same recognition.

I dropped a couple of choice words, cursing the MC (who, in his defense, had made an innocent mistake) and collected my medal. Before I could even take a peek at the medal, my feet came out from under me and I was blacking out.

Next thing I knew, I was in the grass with Ray, Juanita and EMTs around me.

I wound up not taking the courtesy ride to the emergency room, and I wound up refusing further treatment. But I do recognize that I was in rough shape. 

All because it was the worst race ever.

I do have to say though, courses that loop back on themselves are really neat because you pass other runners throughout the run... and there is nobody that understands how much encouragement a runner needs than another runner. For those other runners, I am truly thankful.

Me and Juanita holding up our mediocre medals.

Later that day, when I had fully recovered, I would realize that while it wasn't a PR race, it wasn't my worst half marathon time either.

Little miracles.

Chip - 3:31:55
Pace - 16:12/mile
Overall - 327/331
Age 70/71