Sunday, March 6, 2011

1/2 Marathon Mania

As I mentioned earlier, I'm running a 1/2 marathon in May. Probably a better way to describe it is I will be attempting not to die as I crawl over the finish line, hopefully before the course closes after 3 hours.

I'm not so much with the running. I decided to run because it has always haunted me. Swimming, no big deal. Biking, sure, no problem. Running? Good God, NOT RUNNING!

The first week of my training went really well. I ran three miles at a time, which took me around 30 minutes. I was feeling good. Running? I think I can handle it.

Then the first "long" run came around. I say "long" because it was only supposed to be 4 miles. But I had never run longer than three miles. EVER. In my life.

But whatever, I had run three miles. What was one more?

So I set off. I had no real plan, I just figured I would run for an extra 15 minutes than I normally ran because in my brain, that made sense. I normally run about a ten minute mile, so I figured 15 minutes extra would probably add about another mile.

Not having a plan was not a good plan. I sort of just randomly ran through a bunch of neighborhoods, up a few hills, around some new corners, etc. I noticed I was getting closer to home then I should have been at only 30 minutes into the run, so I made a right instead of a left, crossed the street ahead of a car, noticed some random kids in a park and ran faster so I didn't look like a chubby girl running with no purpose.

Then I finally looked around. I had no idea where I was. None. I had never been in this neighborhood before, and nothing looked familiar. I could have been on Mars. Well, crap. Now what? I couldn't just turn around. No, of course not. What if those kids saw me? What if someone looked out of their window and saw me pass in front of their house twice in the last ten minutes? The entire town would clearly notice and obviously make fun of me. (I might not have been thinking clearly at this point. Running does that to me)

So, in the grand tradition of being lost, I just continued forward on the wrong path. This street must cut through straight to my house, right? Every road eventually reaches a place I know, right? Turning around is a sign of weakness!

So I ran. And ran. AND RAN. I saw the water tower that I can see from my house, and ran towards that. I eventually hit the train tracks, and decided that there MUST be a place to cut across. There wasn't. I finally came to an apartment complex that looked vaguely familiar, so I ran towards that. Apparently that apartment complex hates runners, because the entire parameter is fenced in. I now know that, because I ran around the entire thing. Then exited out the same way I came in.

I had never ran this long before. Not even close. "I'm WAY over the four miles I was supposed to do today," I thought. "I'm going to die. If I lay down in the middle of the street, will someone call 911 for me? Because, seriously, I might die. I hate running. I hate this neighborhood. I hate every person who is walking their dog and smiling at me as I wheeze and stumble past them."

Finally, FINALLY I came back to the street where I took that wrong turn. I have never seen a more beautiful street sign in my life. I traced my steps back to my house, tail between my very sore legs.

I sat on my front porch, exhausted. I couldn't believe I had just run that much. "Getting lost sucked," I thought. "But at least I know now I can run more than 4 miles!" I woke up the next morning wanting to die. My calves were on fire. My knees were achy. I just wanted to sit and do nothing. But I was satisfied that I had done it.

I figured I should probably find out exactly how much I had ran, so I could brag correctly at work the next day. "Oh, I ran 6 miles this weekend. No big deal." I couldn't wait to tell everyone that I had gone above and beyond my training schedule and that this marathon was going to be my bitch come May. So got in my car and drove the route.

Exactly 4 miles.

This marathon is going to suck.

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