I've mentioned before that I am not athletic. And I mean it, I'm not...AT ALL. I always wanted to be that girl that could play a game of basketball or participate on a team of volleyball without being that one person whom everyone is secretly annoyed with and wished was never on their team. Or even run a simple mile without dying. I just didn't have it in me, I don't have the coordinating, the stamina, the natural talent or the ability to be good at sports.
But I wanted to be. Three years ago I decided to try running, and quickly realized, again, that I just wasn't made to be athletic. I tried to run but my lungs felt like they were on fire and my chest felt like it was going to explode. My husband started a running program with a friend, and being stubborn, wanting to get in shape and not wanting to be left behind...I decided to join them...regardless of how much I disliked it and the pain it inflicted.
I remember the very first time I ran a whole mile...sad, I know...but it was something I'd never done before and I felt pretty good with myself. Me, the girl who dropped out of HS basketball after two weeks, ran a whole mile. In fact, I even worked up to run 50 minutes...the program started at 10min runs and ended with a 50min run. I felt on top of the world when I completed it...though I hated every run that got me there. Sure, I felt great afterwards, but it took every ounce of me to complete that program...and there were definitely runs that I skipped, missed and just flat-out quitted.
I did a 5k, and couldn't complete it. Iknow...sad. I joked around that someday I'd run a half-marathon, secretly actually meaning it, but believing I never could or would. It was all too easy to stop running, and I did. Just got out of the habit...skipping one run, then another...and then it's so hard to get back into it again. I kept telling myself I'd start again, and I when I finally wanted to, my world went crazy for several months. I got pregnant, moved back to Minnesota, was "homeless" for awhile. And then finally when we moved into our own place and things settled down a bit I was too far along in my pregnancy to start an exercise that my body wasn't used to, so I waited.
I feel like most women who carry a baby for 9 months feel an increased urge to get in shape after labor. I have always been conscious of what I eat but I was determined to live a healthier lifestyle, that didn't just include eating healthy, but exercising too. So after a sufficient time of healing from labor, I changed my habits and started dabbling with running again. It was harder to start than before. My lungs didn't burn like last time, but my body was so out of wack from refraining from exercise for so long and from being pregnant and delivering a baby. Things hurt that I never knew could, and my muscles were non-existant. I had to start slow and to be honest it bothered me that I couldn't just up and run two miles. But I worked at it, and did a combination of running, weight lifting and yoga throughout the weeks.
At the beginning of summer my sister (who just started running for the first time in her life) got it in her head to do a half-marathon. We talked about running it together, and I had every intention of starting the training right along with Heidi. But, I didn't. I talked myself out of it. My biggest reason was that I wasn't getting a sufficient amount of sleep to stick with a training plan that required runs I couldn't miss, and I had no idea how I'd even fit those runs in with my baby's non-existant schedule. That, and when it comes right down to it...I was afraid that I just couldn't do it.
But I kept running. 2-3 times a week...with the occasional week here and there with 0 runs. I was doing mostly 2-3 miles at a time. At one point I did actually complete a personal best of running 5 miles, it felt like such a great accomplishment...I'd never run that far before. I remember feeling that way after completing my first mile ever. And I began to realize that I actually liked running. It wasn't just a form of exercise anymore...it was more.
Seven weeks ago my crazy sister decided she was going to run another half-marathon, a fun Halloween race called "Monster Dash." Up to this point I'd given up the idea of running a half, and had pretty much decided that I never would. But I found myself considering it again, and the more I thought about it the more I knew I really wanted to do it. I felt confident that maybe it was a good time to try, and so I searched the internet for a 7-week training program and started the schedule. The list of runs was intimidating...adding a mile every week seemed impossible on paper...but I was determined to try. I didn't officially sign-up for the race until a few weeks into the training program, just to make sure that it was something I was actually going to stick with.
I was excited to start training, and from the beginning I found myself looking forward to my runs. The more I ran, the more I liked it. It was down-time that I could get away and think, get in a zone and clear my head. I felt great after the runs, and that feeling was addicting. Now, don't get me wrong...I didn't look forward to every run, there were definitely those I dreaded. And many were very challenging. There were several runs that I thought would be the end my training, and there were times when I believed it impossible to add another mile in only the course of a week. My 7-mile run was, by far, the worst run throughout the entire program. I went in the afternoon and was pumped and mentally prepared to go. I started running, and, like all my runs - the first two miles sucked. But it wasn't just the warming-up process and getting into the rhythm this time, it was the fact that I was burping up lunch. Yeah, ish. By mile three I was fighting the urge to throw up every time I burped. I kept telling myself that eventually the feeling would go away and to keep running...stick with it. So I pressed on and pushed myself another 3 excruciating miles, telling myself the entire time "Don't throw up, Kristy, don't you dare throw up." Well, just before mile 6 I didn't have a choice, my body took over and I had to stop on the side of the road. Not once...four times. I felt gross and was so mad that I didn't make it the full 7 after pushing myself so hard. I felt utterly disgusting for the rest of the day, and need-less-to-say running 13.1 miles felt impossible after that.
There were ups and downs throughout my training, and two weeks leading up to my race I was getting pretty discouraged. I was getting a side-ache every time I ran, when I ran 9 miles with a side-ache the whole way I was positive I couldn't complete 13.1 miles like that. My goal for the race was to finish without walking (except for water-breaks,) and to run it under 2hrs and 40mins. And as race day approached I was really anxious about every aspect, the weather had been icky for a couple weeks, cold, rainy...it even snowed. I was crossing my fingers that there wouldn't be snow on race day andthat my persistent side-ache wouldn't show up.
The night before the Monster Dash we looked up the expected temperature feel for 8:30am the next morning...it said 32 degrees. Brrrr. It was tricky picking out something to wear...I didn't want to freeze the whole time, but I didn't want to dress too warm either. I slept horrible that night, (not to mention I'd slept even worse the night before.) And when I woke up on race day I was so nervous.
We (my sister Heidi, her husband Steve and myself) got outside and were happy to see there wasn't frost on the ground...and were pleased to find the temperature at 40 degrees. (Hey...every degree makes a difference when we're talking about cold.) When we got to the lake where the race started it felt much cooler with the wind coming off the lake. We walked up and down the start lane to keep warm and were entertained by all the different racers in their Halloween costumes. I had no intention of running with Heidi and Steve as I was slower than they, but on race day I was feeling brave and lined up next to them with the 10:16 pacer and decided to stick with them as long as I could. I was so ready for the race to start, just so I could start running to warm up.
There were thousands of racers...and the first couple miles I was occupied with trying to stay with Heidi and Steve and get into rhythm with the pace. I instantly got my cursed side-ache and thought I wouldn't be able to run the whole race at this pace. But I knew from experience that I needed to make it through the first couple of miles before I really could tell how things were going. By mile three I was feeling pretty good - the pace felt great and my side-ache was mostly gone. We lost Steve at a water-break but caught up with him around mile 6 when we saw our families cheering us on. Around mile 8 I was getting tired and was looking forward to seeing our families at mile 9. As 9 approached there was no sign of our "cheer squad" and I realized that they must've skipped all the way to the finish line, which, by the way, we could see. It was discouraging to pass the finish line and seeracers at the end of their race and know I still had 4 miles to go before I could stop. You could also see the entire lake we still had to run around and I thought that there was no possible way I would make it around the whole thing. But I kept with it, after passing mile 10 and running up a hill I realized I'd officially run further than I ever had before...just random thinking to take my mind off the fatigue. I was still with Heidi and Steve and was getting to the point where I had to mentally stay in the game. My side-ache flared up again, which did on and off throughout the previous miles, but it wasn't going away this time. Steve kept encouraging to keep going and as I rounded mile 11 I told myself there was no way I wasn't going to finish this race...I'd worked to hard to quit now. My lungs started burning. Everywhere around me people were stopping to walk. I passed them and looked at them longingly thinking maybe I should just stop and walk too. There were no crowd cheerers on the side of the road (amazing how strangers yelling "Go runners!" can seriously boost morale)...I was exhausted and it felt like these last couple miles were taking forever. I was looking forward to the last water station to feel a boost from the cold liquid coursing down my throat...and the helpers were shouting that there was only a mile-and-a-half left...and I thought, "I got this. I'm finishing.It's not that far." So even though I desperately wanted to walk, I kept running. At last I rounded the corner which led to the finish line and there were hundreds of people shouting and screaming that the end was just up ahead. I could hear the music and cheering, and the adrenaline kicked in. I don't think I could've stopped myself from sprinting...I was so excited to finish, after all, it meant that I could STOP. It felt great to pass the finish line. I couldn't help myself but to throw my arms up in the arm in triumphant. (Yeah, I'm a nerd.)
I did it! Something I always wanted to do, but never thought I could. I completed 13.1 miles in 2hrs-18min-15secs. That is 20mins faster than my goal time, and I ran 10min-33sec miles, which is definitely faster than I'd been running my long miles in training. (I know that's not that impressive, especially to those who are running pro's...but it's good for me!) Before the half-marathon I was thinking of tackling a full marathon, but after running 13.1 miles and knowing that to complete a marathon I'd have to turn around and run back to the start line, I'm not so sure anymore. But I think another half is definitely in my future!
