The Race of My Life

This past Sunday I officially became that asshole who cries at the finish line of a big race. I have no problem with people doing this at the end of a full marathon - if you DON'T cry at the finish, you're barely human - but given that this was my 3rd half marathon, and my 2nd in the last 2 months, this wasn't some sort of life changing moment. I'd run the distance before. Hell if we're going by the distance alone, I've run that distance at least a dozen times. But this race was different. I had the race of my life.

It started out god awful. The first mile I had this sharp, shooting pain in my stomach - it felt like someone was stabbing me with a knife over and over again. I legitly wasn't sure I'd be able to keep going like that for 13 miles, that's how bad the pain was. But, by some miracle of god, the pain went away after about 10 minutes and it stayed away the rest of the race. Because that first mile had been so crappy, I decided to screw the race plan, and just run the entire thing by feel.

The first 4 miles FLEW by, and then on this one stretch by mile 4.5 there were the funniest signs that someone had nailed to consecutive telephone polls. My favorite said "Remember, you PAID to do this!!"  I'm usually so damn focused when I race that I don't even notice the signs - these definitely made me laugh and I love that someone took the time to climb up a telephone pole and nail these posters. Classic.

We passed the 5 mile mark, and I got excited. My parents had driven all the way down to Philly to watch me run this race, and I knew they'd be cheering around mile 5.5. I came up Chestnut Street and there they were, mom cheering with my cheerleading pom poms from middle school and dad videotaping me on his phone! That was really awesome. They always came to my athletic stuff growing up, but competitive sports pretty much ended for me when I was 18. It was so great to have them out there cheering me on!

And from then on I cruised through the race. I gave a high 5 to who I can only assume was Benjamin Franklin, and smiled at the people cheering my name (our bibs had our names on them - nice touch, Philly half organizers!). Then, I have to hand it to them, the Drexel kids were friggin awesome. The race was early (7am start time), and those frat boys were out on the sidewalk, blasting music and screaming for the runners. Some were handing out Keystone Light - I didn't drink that shit in college, I wouldn't drink it during a half marathon, but I LOVED the gesture! There were some gnarly hills over in that area, which were somewhat unexpected, so the boost was very much appreciated.

The finish line for this half was about 2 tenths of a mile further down the road than it was for the Philly half I ran in September. It was kind of funny because you come out under this overpass and that's where the previous finish line was. I was charging hard, thinking I had literally 5 seconds left of the race, and then was like "Oh shit, I have another 30 seconds left." So I stayed charging hard, but I lifted my head up and took in the amazing crowd. I don't think I've ever felt that good finishing a race. I crossed the finish line, hands in the air, and slapped my watch to stop the clock. I looked down at the time to see one hell of a PR - and that's when it happened. I started crying. Like a complete asshole.

Part of it was that I was proud of the PR, part of it was happiness that I'd just enjoyed a race for the first time ever, and part of it was relief that it was done - it was a fine moment of catharsis. I had been putting so much pressure on myself to do well, hit a certain time, stay competitive with my friends who were also running, make my coaches proud, do well in front of my parents, etc. Thank god for coach Jason - he put everything in perspective for me last week. Without his guidance, advice, and tough love, I don't think I would've performed as well as I did in Philly; and there's no way I would've enjoyed it as much.

I feel amazing. I don't think I'll ever forget that feeling as long as I live.