This is not the post I had planned for today. My plan was always to write-up the most recent half marathon in an effort to share the adventure and the success. But the tone and message of this post, combined with the experience of yesterday’s 13.1 mile run leave me with a post that I wasn’t anticipating. There’s still a story to tell, the story of the half marathon that wasn’t, but not in the way I had hoped.
Leading Up To The Race
To call this adventure a race would be a stretch. Starting this half marathon training during COVID, I knew I was working toward a race that wouldn’t happen as intended. I never considered signing up for the Madison Half Marathon as an option in our new socially distanced world. There would be no fans, no finish line, no bagels and bananas, but I still ran like I had a job to do. I wrote about it months ago here, where I dissected my journey as a runner, and shared how much I’ve been enjoying the sport. I truly loved training for this half.
I ran forty one of the forty two total workouts, the one missed workout coming the week that I got married. Every run was done outside, on scorching summer morning and late, drizzly October afternoons. I used 8:30 as my mile pace, and couldn’t have been more excited when, during one of the later long runs, I maintained that pace after 6 miles at ease.
I’ve come to really enjoy running, something I thought I’d never, ever say. But all of the growth, all of the change, and all of the work only mattered to me if I made progress. From day one, the goal was to PR the half in November. To run it fast. Relative, of course, but my fast.
The Good
Finishing every speed workout, every recovery run, every race, I find something to learn. Every opportunity is a chance to learn something, and there’s enough that I don’t know to know that I should take advantage of every one. Go ahead, read that sentence again.
I took confidence from my training. I saw growth, and I ran fast — faster than I’ve even been able to run before. I felt like a runner! And I held onto that confidence leading up to the race. I visualized the run, picturing the trail as I ran through five miles, imagining the feeling of taking the final step, arriving at the 13.10 mark on my Garmin watch. Finishing, and in record time, too! Mentally, I was all in.
I love the preparation. I love laying out my running gear, thinking through what I’m going to eat the morning I wake up, ritualistically listening to my Race Day jam (I’ll admit, I have no idea how this song became my running anthem, but there’s no sense in fighting it). Thinking about how I’m going to get ready and how I’m going to execute makes me arguably more excited than participating in the actual event — and that’s true across the board. Hunting, fishing, camping. It’s weird, but it’s the truth.
In that excitement to prepare, I found myself exactly where I needed to be. Carb-loading with pasta the night before the race. A bagel, a banana, and coffee the morning of. Hell, I even drove the course beforehand and set out a few mini-water bottles to wash my Goos down with. Mentally, I had it in the bag. And I think that’s where I went wrong.
The Not So Good
I told myself that getting to the race was the hard part. Forty one workouts across three and a half months, that’s where the work was done. Running the race is just… another run. Run in a straight line, turn around, and come back. If only it were that easy.
Nerves are a part of every big event in my life. From playing live music to presenting at work, I’m guaranteed to feel nervous seconds before beginning. And then I start, and they disappear. But before this race, I felt totally calm. No nervous energy, no stress about the task, only calm. A certainty that I was going to dominate. And in that confidence, I got a little too cocky. After the best training of my life, after meticulously planning and preparing, there was no way I wasn’t going to finish with an earth-shattering PR.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t.
Not only did I miss my PR, I ran my worst half marathon by almost five minutes.
There are lots of factors that, to me, sound like excuses. But, in the hopes that you can learn from my mistakes, here they are.
Weather
Over the last month and a half, I’ve been training early in the morning before work. The average temperature on those mornings has been around 30 degrees, which I find to be manageably chilly. Last year, I ran this race on a blustery, 28 degree morning. This year, by the time I finished, the temperature was 71 degrees. I’m smart enough to know that I was overdressed, running in shorts, a dry-fit t-shirt, and a long sleeve zip. But regardless, I ran through the blazing sun between six and eight miles, and was not prepared for the repercussions.
Stick To The Plan!
I had a plan: 10:30 first mile, gradually increase from 10:30 to 9:55 over the next few miles, drop off to 10:30 by the end if you have to. It’s so straightforward when it’s laid out like that. I knew what I needed to do. And then, half of a mile into the race, excited, confident (cocky?) I turned it up too fast. The first mile whizzed by at 10:05, as did the next five, and by the time I hit the turn-around at 6.55, I could feel that I was lower than I wanted to be. I ate a Goo around mile 2.5, 5, and 9, but no amount of refueling was going to make up for the fact that I abandoned the plan.
Mental Gymnastics
Finally, and arguably most importantly, I lost the mental battle. Running the Milwaukee half marathon two years ago, the last five miles were tough, to say the least. Every few minutes I convinced myself that I needed to stop, only to push past it and keep slogging along. That lasted for miles until I finished without stopping. It was terrible, but I pushed through.
This time, I lost the fight. There was no race, no cheering fans and family members lining the course. Just long, empty, daunting stretches staring me down, daring me to stop. And stop I did. And once you stop once, what’s the harm in stopping one more time? Two more times? As soon as I stopped, I gave up the goal of hitting the PR. And once the goal was gone, I didn’t have any fight left to push through the wall and give it my all (“poet, don’t know it”).
After being so sure I would PR, I realize I didn’t respect the distance and the process. I didn’t acknowledge that it would hurt, and that I would have to grind, and that I would have to stretch outside of myself to set a record and achieve my goal. It hurts to admit it, feels embarrassing to write it all down, but also makes me feel like the run was worthwhile. Even in failure, I take a lot away from this experience.
Sometimes you have to be smart enough to adapt, other times you need to stick more closely to the plan, and where your mind goes, your body will always follow.
I’m sore. I’m disappointed. I’m frustrated. And above all else, I’m excited to try again. Time to get back on that horse.
Originally published at https://alwayslivewild.com on November 9, 2020.
