NYC Half Marathon Recap: A journey of (what felt like) a thousand miles
The half marathon distance appears to be my Mount Everest. And when climbing Everest you must make many attempts at scaling the mountain to acclimate before trying for the summit; I've found my half marathon training experience to follow along similar lines.
When training for my first Half, my hip got injured about 5 weeks in, completely derailing my program. During training for my second Half, I made it a little further and then had a small knee issue; but the real issue was training in the blistering, sticky, pollution-filled summer heat of NYC that made me feel like I was going to die after each run. In neither training did I make it to the race.
This time, I ran my longest distance ever: 8 miles, suffered a minor foot injury that kept me from running for a couple weeks but not from intense strength training. So I rehabbed and strengthened, but I also got really tired of being on social lockdown for months and while training like a beast I also started going out and imbibing more than usual. Then I got a weird chest cold, which completely halted any workouts.
When considering if I should run the race I was worried about not being able to complete it because of my foot, my lungs, and my low back, which usually gets a bit sensitive in runs over 6 miles. So many things could go wrong!
But I also trained with the American Cancer Society's training group, DetermiNation, and raised nearly $800 from my friends and family. People were rooting for me! They believed in me! I couldn't let them down.
So when shivering in the corral at 7am on March 17, 2013, I had done very little running for the entire previous month and had spent the previous few nights propped up on pillows with a heating pad on my chest to keep from coughing myself awake.
Not the best way to go into a half marathon, but that's where I was at.
I went into the race with three, what I considered to be, very modest goals:
2. Stay ahead of van that will pick you up if you're too slow (over 3 hours)
3. Complete the race in under 3 hours
Miles 1-3: I'm really doing this, here we go!
(^Alexandra & Me at the start)
I have been so fortunate to meet the best people along my running journey (everyone reading this count yourself included ;). My running bff Alexandra Hertel and her friend Craig (now MY friend too!), and new friends Candie, DNation friends Diana and others...we were all together at the start.
I ran the first couple miles with Craig. They went by so fast and were amazing. I felt AMAZING.
Because of my less-than-optimal training, my original plan had been to:
a) walk the 3 major hills in Central Park, and
b) to walk through all the water stops for at least a minute.
But I felt so great I didn't walk up Cat Hill on Central Park's East Side, I didn't walk through the first water stop. I also was pretty cold and just wanted warm up.
Craig and I separated as he decided to run a bit faster. I maintained my very comfortable pace of about 13 min/mi and I dutifully walked through the water stop around mile 3, but chose to run up the Harlem hill. It actually felt good! And if I was going to achieve my goal of completing the race under 3 hours, I really couldn't spare the time. I shed my gloves as the warmth spread through my body.
Miles 4-6: misplaced confidence
As the rolling hill flattened out on the Park's West side, I shed my outer layer as planned, downed some Sports Beans, and congratulated myself on a race well run, so far. The sun was shining, everything seemed grand.
All day Rach. You can do this all day.
Around mile 5 my hips started to hurt, standard fatigue. This usually happens and it usually goes away, or at least I deal with it pretty well. I thought it would improve once we passed the 10K mark and finally got out of the park, that on the flat Manhattan streets my energy would pick up, giving me a second wind, and I would fly along the course.
"Finally, freedom!" I said to a guy next to me as we exited the park. Ha.
Miles 7-9: shit gets real
Although my Garmin does reflect that I picked up the pace in mile 7 (it was slightly downhill), the course got colder and less friendly than the familiar flora and fauna of the Park. It was whole a new world running on the street. The icy wind tore through my shirt, I regretted getting rid of the outer layer, the buildings blocked the sun, there were cameras and spectators and although it was exciting, it mostly felt exposing, alien, and strange.
And my legs did not start to feel better; and there was no second wind.
No longer measuring my walk/run internvals by the water stations, I walked when I needed to. Not too much though, and just for a minute. The course turned down 42nd Street, a long straight stretch to the West Side highway, with idling cars on our left. I waved at the friendlier-looking drivers, trying to occupy myself and lift my spirits.
Rounding onto the Westside Highway, again I thought my stride would loosen and I would start feeling better. Sadly not the case. Apparently this was a one-wind race for me, and the breeze was waning quickly.
My longest run being 8 miles, everything that happened after entering the Westside Highway was uncharted territory. A completely new experience that I was completely unprepared for.
As planned, I walked through the water stop near mile 9. And then just a little further. It was hard to want to start running again.
This is what you're here for. Get moving.
It also started to become pretty obvious that I wasn't going to complete the race in under 3 hours. And until that moment I didn't realize how important that goal was to me.
Let it go, Rach, it's not going to happen. Just let it go.
The pain in my legs was getting intense. They had pretty much given up and I was forcing them to continue on. Walk. Run. Run. Trying to run. Walk.
Just a little further to the next water stop.
Miles 10-12: a trail of tears
Just a 5K left! I can do this. I can pull out a 5K. Do it Rachel, finish this race. Just effing do it. Dig deep. Dig deep.
Run. RUN! effing RUN! Searing pain. Like holding a wall squat for eternity. Tears. Walk. Run.
Walking, I passed by a Team in Training cheer station. Seeing my DNation racing singlet they shouted encouragement to me, "DetermiNation you can do it! You can run this race! Keep it going! Keep it going!" Somewhere through the fog of pain and disappointment I realized they were encouraging me to run.
Then the most wonderful thing happened! My friend Marissa ran up to me. She had been cheering at the TNT cheer station and recognized me. "You can do this! You can complete this race!" I looked at her, hugged her and burst into tears, "Really? Can I?! I don't know."
You can, she said. Keep going.
A guy on a bike rode up next to me as I was walking. "How you doing?" he asked. "Uh, alright, how are you?" They wanted to open the Highway. A bus was a quarter mile back. I would have to stay in front of it to avoid being picked up or rerouted. Shame. Disgrace. Panic. This was my worst fear.
But at least I wouldn't have to run through the tunnel...
Run. Walk. Walk. Run. My feet, aching. Legs dead, already at the bar, laughing at me, wondering why I bothered to keep going.
Oh my god this hurts so much! Is THIS what I'm supposed to overcome? Eff this! This is bullshit!
And then another wonderful thing happend. My coach Jen ran up to me. As we ran together she asked how I was. "Not so good. I'm in so much pain," I replied. "Well, that's why they give you a medal at the end," she said. Indeed.
Mile 13...to the bitter end
By this point there were no more tears, no more self-doubt, only anger.
Just finish this shit, Rach. Eff this race. FINISH IT.
Run. Trying to run. Walk. Walk. Run. A mile never went by so slowly in my life.
[Looking at my GPS watch] How have I only run a quarter mile?!
Then the tunnel. that I walked through.
I'm not running in this depressing, uphill tunnel.
The literal light at the end of that tunnel only served to reveal a sharp incline.
Eff that incline. I'm not running up that.
But I did run 400 meters from the top of the incline to the finish line, completing the race in 3 hours, 6 minutes, 55 seconds.
I smiled at the cameras and waved at my brother, who was waiting for me.
"How was it?! How do you feel?!" he exuberantly inquired.
"Terrible! I feel like I'm going to die!" I rasped.
He grinned and laughed a knowing, brotherly laugh, "Well, there you go."
I staggered past the race staff. "Did you get a medal? Foil blankets are that way."
"No, but I want that medal, I earned it. I want that blanket. Give me everything, I want all of it!"
When I say that the race was terrible I don't mean that I did terrible. It's just my experience, which was objectively terrible. I did as well as I could given who I was on that particular day, which is all you can ask of anyone really. Am I proud of pushing through that kind of pain and suffering? I don't know if that's something to be proud of, honestly. I hated it, it was horrible. But I did it. And my main takeaway is that I will do whatever is in my power to make my next half marathon exponentially less horrible.
I'm also not sure that the pain I experienced was typical of a half marathon (I'm pretty sure it's typical of a full marathon though...). I'm fairly certain that if my training had gone better and I hadn't gotten sick I might not have had such a negative experience. Or at least the worst of it could have been confined to the last couple miles, and not the last 4-5 miles. (This is the hope I carry with me into future half marathon attempts!)
So what will I do different next time? Here's my list of training changes to make and lessons learned:
1. Run only 3x a week (as opposed to 4), strength train 2x, and do yoga 1x
2. Alternate less strenuous weeks with more strenuous weeks
3. Build in a social life and cheat days, don't ever go for more than 2 weeks without relaxing and having fun!
4. Which hopefully will keep me from freaking out and going on a 2-3 week cheat binge.
5. Training with a group was amazing, I would definitely do this again. But I need to be more aware of my needs in that context, and make decisions that are right for me (like not running a 4 mile race the day after my longest run ever).
6. Fundraising is what ultimately got me to the starting line of this race. It is an incredible motivator and worthy endeavor. I never knew that I could actually raise a significant amount of money until now. So many new things to learn about myself through running and racing!
Even though I say it was terrible (and it was), I did technically accomplish two of my main goals: 1. to complete the race, and 2. to stay ahead of the van. I guess I just didn't realize that finishing under 3 hours was the "reach" goal. If I'm being completely honest, I thought I'd finish closer to 2:45. Again, ha.
And it's also worth noting that even though my pace was pretty dismal for where I'm at right now – it was 14:16 min/mi for this race – about 2 years ago I ran a 5K at a 14:01 min/mi pace, and I ran the whole way. So there's something to be said for progress over time.
It's funny, none of the things that I thought would go wrong did (foot, lungs, back, I didn't even have any chafing!), but a whole host of other things did (one in particular that I won't even mention here, super embarrassing). These long distance races are no joke, not that I thought they were, but I was unprepared for what I was going to go through. It's not just about preparing your body for a race, it's a test of the fabric of your very being, what you are made of on a fundamental level. And that won't really make sense to anyone who hasn't been through it.
On one hand I should have been much more physically prepared than I was, but on the another hand there's really no way to prepare for something you've never been through. The only way is to walk (or run, or in my case both!) into the dark and see what happens.
Ultimately the real accomplishment is being brave enough to take the leap, to put yourself in a situation that forces you to face yourself in a new and possibly terrifying way. The thing is, I didn't fully realize what that meant until I was freaking out around mile 10. To me, that's not courage, that's naiveté. But I didn't quit, and that at least counts for something. So I'll take it!
Overall I'm glad I ran the race, even as clearly unprepared as I was. I can now make some very informed decisions about the marathon this year, which was the whole point of running this race to begin with. Consequently, I will defer my entry into the NYC full marathon until next year. I need to have a positive Half Marathon experience before going for a full. Also, my eyes are open to what awaits me in a full and I'm not sure that it's for me, nor do I think that I have to complete one to be a "real" runner (I didn't realize I thought that, but I guess I did). What happened to me on Sunday is about as real as it gets.
So for now I want to work on my speed and form, and finding my place in the running community in NYC. My next half marathon is scheduled for October and I will do everything I can to be prepared for that race.
From the very bottom of my heart and the seat of my soul, I want to thank everyone who donated to my fundraising campaign, offered me guidance and support, listened to me rattle on about running and my training program (and continues to do so!), and that genuinely cares about me and my goals. I love you all more than I can say. You have helped me become the person I am today, which is (if you didn't know me before) miles and miles and miles away from who I was.
