The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly of My First Half Marathon

Nearly 2 years ago my friend, Casey, and I set a goal to run a half marathon.  The plan was to train for a 10K (which we ran in Mankato last fall) and then go back and do the half the following year.  It seemed so far off.  That far off date was last Sunday.  I'm happy to say that our goal was met.  We both ran the half marathon.  13.1 miles without stopping.  But, as all things do, goals evolve.  In the time since that rainy, shivering, post 5-k goal setting ride home I decided that I wanted to run not only a half marathon, but a sub-2 half marathon.  This is the story of what is undeniably a great accomplishment, but sometimes even great accomplishments can be laced with disappointment (read, not overly inspiring).  I will warn you that there may be a bit TMI, so if you're turned off by "potty talk" I encourage you to stop reading now.

2015 Mankato Half Marathon Recap

In the days leading up to the race I was feeling excited and prepared, perhaps, in hindsight, a bit too confident.  My last long run (a 13 miler) had gone wonderfully!  I started at a slow and comfortable pace for the first half, running around town in the dark before heading out on the highway at sunrise.  I finished strong with a hefty negative split.  I felt great.  Then I had two whole weeks of taper to think about how well that run went.  Pfsh....13.1 miles I got this.

The night before we left for Mankato I was focused on packing and getting the kids ready, focusing on warmth for race morning.  Until 3am...when I woke up with a full bladder and the familiar twinge which can only mean a UTI is on the horizon.  I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning working up my best denial abilities.  During the ride to Mankato as we pulled into a ballpark so I could use the porta potty, it became glaringly obvious that there was no denying it, I did indeed have a bladder infection. 

I was able to get treated and a prescription when we got to Mankato.  I sucked down water, downed cranberry pills and prayed.  All I could do was hope for the best as far as my bladder was concerned. We spent the day picking up our registrations, walking around the expo, and cheering our kids on at the kids races.

 The night before, Casey and I attempted to drive the course, but when the trail took a winding turn through the woods we couldn't figure out how to follow it.  We saw the first 3 and the last 3 miles.  OK no problem, I had studied the map.  Never mind that every training run I'd done in unknown territory had not gone well.  That night I did not sleep well at all.  I tossed and turned, used the bathroom 65 times, and had nightmares that I wasn't even able to start the race.  I was actually relieved when the clock flashed 4:30am and I could get up and turn on the coffee.

I spent an hour with my morning devotionals and coffee, and still wasn't feeling overly nervous.  Despite the UTI I was still feeling fairly confident that I could do it.  I felt more anxious to get out there and get going than anything.  Casey and I went down for breakfast and by 7 we were ready to head out.  It was chilly, but not as cold as last year when we did the 10K.  I was nervous, but not the sick, jittery feeling that I'd had in the past.  I was still drawing strength from that near perfect 13 miler from a few weeks ago.  I used the porta potty twice in the half hour before it was time to line up. 

We lined up just behind the 9:44 group.  I was good with this as I was hoping to replicate that 13 miler where I started slow and cranked it up at the end. (Let me just say that this is a lot easier to do mentally when it's a training run and nothing is at stake).  Just before the gun went of I needed to use the bathroom again.  Luckily we were standing next to one and there was no line as everyone was already in the starting corral.  Just as I closed the door I heard a loud noise.  "AH!  Was that the gun?!"  I opened the door and stuck my head out.  No, I think they just started the music.  I peed crazy fast and ran back out to see the line moving forward.  That was indeed the gun.  I frantically searched for Casey, and luckily found her and jumped back in line next to her. 

The first mile felt better than in races past.  We were going a little faster than I had planned, but I felt good.  By the time we hit mile 2 we had passed the 9:44 group and my phone was telling me we were running at around a 9:10 pace.  This was my goal pace so I was knew this was faster than I had planned on running the first half.  But, I stuck with Casey and reasoned that this was great, I was hitting goal pace.  We continued on and I felt good by mile 3.  It wasn't effortless, but definitely sustainable and I kept telling myself we were right on pace.  Just before mile 5 was a slight uphill.  We climbed it and I pulled slightly ahead of Casey.  Hills always make me stride out a bit more, increasing my speed.  A big mistake since I was insanely jealous of Casey's even pacing throughout the race!!

Then the giant downhill, accompanied by the downhill of my entire race experience.  My thought was "use this hill make up time", my thought should have been "you've already been running at race pace, just sustain!"  But, I had that negative split in my brain.  I remembered the same giant decent from the 10K last year, and how great it felt to gain so much time.  The only difference....during the 10k the hill fell at the very END of the race.  Not before the halfway point.  

 I flew down the hill, clocking in at a pace in the low 7 minute range.  Way too fast and I knew it.  But I felt great and reasoned that it was a downhill, I should be running based on effort.  This didn't feel hard.  This is great! Looking back I realize that judging by effort becomes more difficult when you have the adrenaline of the race and the crowds to factor in.  I got to the bottom of the hill and was still flying around the curve full of spectators.  Although I could already feel my breathing increasing.  I knew I needed to slow down.

 And slow down I did, but only to the 8:30 - 8:50 range.  Still way to fast for this early in the race, but coming down after a 7 minute per mile downhill is hard.  Now we were around the half way point I had caught up to the 9:10 group and reasoned that ok, this is the pace I want to finish at I just need to stick around them.  So I told myself to sustain the pace.  I ran just under a 9 minute mile and passed the 9:10 group by quite a little bit.  It was crowded and I was trying to get to a place with a little breathing room.  OK this is fine, it's good, you're definitely setting yourself up for a sub-2 finish.  Oh and setting myself up I was.  

Around the 8 mile mark I could feel the 2 hour group catching back up to me.  I could hear the explosive cheers the pacer was encouraging erupting from right behind me.  I didn't turn around but knew, oh they're right behind me, push.  I don't know why I wanted to be ahead of them, in my mind I was thinking if they passed me I would be falling behind the pace I needed for a sub-2.  Let me just say mile 8 is NOT where you should be "pushing" in a half marathon.  It was also around the 8 mile mark where I could feel the dreaded urge to use the bathroom and a growing ache in my bladder.

So I had already made about every physical mistake I could make, and now this is where I began to break down mentally.  I was in a near panic trying to decide if I should stop to pee or just push through.  the 9:10 group was so close to me now that I could see the shadow of the pacers sign in front of me.  I knew they would pass me.  I could feel my pace slipping.  By mile 9 I knew I was going to have to stop for a porta potty.  It was also mile 9 where the race directors apparently decided no more pottys were needed.  I knew that from mile 9 getting through mile 10 would be difficult.  I had a couple difficult 10 milers in training and I knew that mile marker would be hard for me to pass mentally.  By now the 9:10 group was so far ahead that I couldn't even say I was hanging with them any more.  I knew I wouldn't be catching them. 

My pace continued to slip, and I was still panicked scanning the sidelines for a porta potty.  I hit mile 10 and knew I had to focus to get through this mile mentally.  I knew that Luke and the kids would be around here somewhere so I kept telling myself you'll see them soon and tried to tune into my music. 

  My pace kept slipping, the ache in my bladder was almost unbearable with every footfall and I desperately needed a bathroom.  At mile 10 1/2 we were nearing the park where I knew my family (and I hoped a bathroom) would be.  My pace was around a 10 minute mile and the 9:10 group was out of sight.  No bathrooms.  I debated crouching behind a dumpster to go.  Then I got to Luke and the kids.  I barely saw them, by this time I was all but tuning out the crowds.  But I saw Cora sitting there with a wide eyed grin, looked up and saw Luke smiling.  I threw them my gloves and told myself I CAN NOT quit.  You cannot let your kids see you quit!!!! 

  I was thirsty, my mouth was dry.  I told myself not to fall behind on my chews.  I could feel them sitting in my stomach and I was gagging as I tried to chew.  I couldn't choke them down.  I sucked on them as long as I could and then spit them back out.  I was panicking.  At mile 11 1/2 there was a turn and I saw Casey right behind me.  Seeing her gave me the strength to stride up the hill.  This had been our goal for 2 years I HAD to do this.

 I kept looking ahead at the long string of runners in the distance causing myself to panic as there were runners as far as the eye could see.  That meant I still had to run further than the eye could see.  And there were more hills ahead.  Not big but rolling, and climbing.  Just before mile 12 Casey caught up to me.  I felt like I was using every available muscle not to pee my pants and the aching and burning in my bladder was nearly unbearable.  I was crying, I told her I couldn't do this.  She told me I could, only 2 miles to go...she barely sounded winded!  At mile 12 I tried to tune into my music again.  I focused on Kip Moore's encouragement of  "girl what's the matter with ya, can't ya see it when it's standing right in front of you".  I tried to refocus.  Almost done you have to do this.  I looked at my time and knew I probably wouldn't be hitting a sub-2.  Not unless I began a dead sprint now with a mile to go.  I couldn't, it wasn't in me.  I felt a twinge of defeat, but my main focus was on how I wanted this to end now!

  As we came into town around 12.3 miles I knew I looked horrible.  I knew my face was contorted into horrific expressions.  I knew I was whimpering and did not look like anything resembling a strong finish.  Over my music I heard a guy yell "you can do it, a mile left!".  NO NO NO NO NO....not a mile left, I have less than a mile left!!!!  I already passed 12 and I must have gone more than .1 miles.  I looked at my phone 12.3, yes, less than a mile left.  I tried my hardest to increase my pace, that looked like around 9:50 per mile.  NOT the negative split I had envisioned.  

Finally FINALLY I saw that beautiful white sign with the big black letters.  I was on the finish line straight away, just get there, was all I could think.  I passed the mile 13 marker.  OK GO.  JUST GET DONE!  I saw that 2 on the clock, I knew I'd missed my goal, I was oblivious to the bystanders, but I just knew regardless of time I NEEDED to get done as soon as possible.  I sprinted.  Well...I came as close to sprinting as I could muster, which ended up being around 7:09....around 10 seconds SLOWER than I cruised down that hill. 

I crossed the finish and staggered down the chute.  I wasn't walking straight, I could barely hold my eyes open, my stomach was killing me and I just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.  I saw my family on the side and I collapsed next to the fence, before we even got to the medals.  I tried to smile as Cora kept saying "can you get me to my mom, can you move so I can get my mom a hug, I just want to get my mom a hug".  I recovered as much as I could and Casey and I collected our medals and started in for the bag line.  My bladder was not handling waiting for half a banana, I wasn't running any more but the pain wasn't stopping.  I was scanning the street for any sign of a bathroom.  Luckily Casey offered to collect my stuff and I went in search of a porta potty.  I found one and peed.... 5 drops.  My stomach hurt and just walking back to Luke and the kids felt daunting.  

I was so happy when we got to the car.  Well happy in that I could sit down, but so upset over missing my goal.  All I could think was ALL that training COMPLETELY down the tubes!  My body was in pain, I was upset over missing the sub-2 mark, but what hurt the most was my pride.  I was so disappointed in how hard it felt.  I was disappointed in myself that I didn't run a smarter race.  Just disappointed in general.  I swore off running. 

That was 2 days ago.  Since then I've received a lot of support in helping me to put it into perspective.  My final time ended up being 2:01:25.  I missed my goal by 1 minute and 26 seconds.  When times were up I half jokingly asked Luke if he was disappointed, after all my training schedule affected him as much as me.  He was the one waiting patiently for me to get home so he could get to work in the mornings, and bathing the kids when I ran at night.  His response... "no, I just expect you to do it again".  Although I'm not ready to think about running around the block, much less another half marathon that was just what I needed to hear.  To know that this was not a one shot deal.  I can train again, I can do another race, I can do better.  And so the thought of another half was planted in the very back recesses of my brain, where it will stay.....at least through the holidays ;).