13.1, Take 3, the Race Report

A few weeks ago, when it began to look more and more like the Chicago Marathon wasn't going to happen for me this year (boo!), I decided to add the Chicago Half to my (nonexistent) summer racing schedule. I ran this one last year, and even in the pouring rain, it was a livelier race experience than Chicago 13.1 (which I probably won't bother with next year). My training has been virtually nonexistent lately, with my mileage topping 18 or 19 miles for a week (this won't mean much to most of you, but let's just say that when one of those runs is a 10-miler, this is not a lot of running for a person supposedly training for the marathon--or the half-marathon for that matter). I managed to get in a 10-miler (which felt relatively solid) and an 11-miler (which felt decent enough), so I wasn't at all worried going into yesterday's half. Last year, I was a ball of nerves, checking the weather every five minutes and totally obsessing about the race. This year, I was like "13.1? Been there, done that." I was feeling so complacent about the distance that I may have even remarked that if the half felt okay, I'd shoot for 16 next weekend and still consider the marathon. Ha!

The Tuesday before the race, I came down with a terrible cold. I forced myself to run on Wednesday, then didn't run again until Sunday. I figured I'd have really fresh legs. But, well....

Race morning dawned cool and clear, which was a switch from last year's torrential downpour. But I'd be hard-pressed to say which weather I'd rather run in. The rain wasn't much fun. But running into the sun on a relatively humid 77-degree day isn't a lot of fun either. It wasn't THAT hot, but I saw at least four runners carted off in ambulances (which is a race-day record for me), so *something* was going on out there.

There's great crowd support at the Chicago Half--despite the fact that the race is nearly impossible to get to. I swear, running with crowds of people shouting on both sides of the course is probably the closest I'll ever get to feeling like a rockstar. The energy at this race is amazing. Around the four-mile mark (?), we began to see the leaders on the "back" portion of the racecourse, and then, of course, everyone goes wild--the crowd and the other runners alike. A few minutes later, we see the leading female run by. Very inspiring even though I'll never be that fast. My pace definitely went up for a few minutes after that. A few minutes after that, we saw a competitor in the wheelchair race heading back toward the finish line. This guy was a double amputee, and he was smoking. So amazing.

Something was off with my Garmin yesterday (that'll teach me to try to save money by going with the cheapest option). I've checked in past weeks, and the distance was pretty close to accurate. But yesterday it was reading 1.2 when we got to the first mile marker. By the 7th mile, it was reading 8.5 miles (huh??), so my pace readings were obviously WAY off as well. When I finished, my time didn't make any sense with what I *thought* I had been running. By my Garmin, I ran the first half pretty fast--despite a bathroom break at mile 3 because my dad hadn't wanted to wait in the long porta potty lines. In hindsight, we could have waited, as they started the race 30 minutes late. Oh well.

When I hit mile 8, my legs were completely dead, and I thought "Uh oh." Here I was telling everyone that I wasn't at all worried about finishing, and now I had five miles to go. I still don't understand what happened out there. Sure, I haven't been training a lot. But I had plenty of juice during my 10- and 11-mile training runs. But now I was at mile 8 and thinking about catching the bus and calling it a day. I don't think I've ever done a race where I've even toyed with the idea of taking a DNF (did not finish). I don't like to start things I can't finish, and for that reason alone, I'd have finished this race even if I had to walk it. But I still can't understand why I was so completely beat that early in the race. I was running on fumes. I wasn't the only one having a rough day out there though. SO many people were walking by mile 8, and while that would make sense to me if I had been at the back of the pack, I was pretty solidly in the middle. The walkers are tough to navigate around, but the run/walkers are the WORST. One minute this person stops DEAD in front of you and starts walking. Two minutes later, they're coming up behind you to pass, only to stop DEAD in front of you a few minutes later. Seriously? That's annoying when you're running out of steam. Actually, it's annoying in any race at any time. Before you come to a dead stop, you should really take a look around you. Duh.

Anyhow, long story short, I finished. For that reason alone, I'll call this race a victory. I was SLOWER than I have been in my last two races. So much slower that I can't quite figure out where the time went. But every single step past about the 10-mile mark was a struggle, and I really worked to finish this one strong. I left everything I had out on that race course, but I finished it, and I guess sometimes that just has to be enough. Not every race can be a PR. Or so I keep telling myself. I haven't been training enough (I guess), and I had a terrible cold, so we'll chalk this one up to experience and move forward.

I'm signed up for a 15K (9.3 miles) at the beginning of November, and I'm excited about getting back into a disciplined training schedule now that the house stuff has calmed down somewhat. My long runs will be 7s, 8s, 9s, which just fit into my life a whole lot better right now than the 16s, 17s, 20s of marathon training. And I've volunteered to work an aid station at the marathon. If I can't run it this year, I might as well do what I can to help those who are, right? As for me, there's always next year....