So, I ran a half marathon November 9th. It was sort of a big deal for me. I mean, I basically flunked out passed out off the track in high school during a sprint. I had to quit track because I couldn't run farther than a mile. This was 13.1 miles, guys. Seriously. Thirteen point freaking one miles.
I hurt my knee a few weeks before the half, so I was forced to take some time off after by my physical therapist and doctor (and, really, my knees. They hate me.) What was a month of PT and time off running has now, as of tomorrow, turned into two, and, unfortunately, is extended into the unforeseeable future. (For those who are interested, I go back to the doctor tomorrow. Two months of PT fixed one knee, but not the other.)
I didn't post about my half before because I was pouting. For two months. I stewed, pretty pissed off that I can't run. Embarrassed, I guess, that I was posting about my half marathon as a "runner" but was unable to run. I felt like a fraud. (Also, spending two months working through my identity in Christ as his daughter, and not as a "runner" or some one who worked really hard at something and achieves a goal. Tough stuff.)
But, I guess I've come to the conclusion that I DID run a half marathon (ground breaking conclusion, no?) no matter what I'm doing now. So, I guess I'll share.
My friend's husband graciously picked up our packets for us and sent me a picture of my number the day before our race.
It was a cold morning. We had mittens, hats, coats, pants. I almost didn't want to take off my pants for the start, but knew I'd be hot after a few miles. (I think I gave my coat to E around mile 7.)
My friends and I started towards the back. I was anticipating a rather slow finish: me with my knees, my friend T who was 11 weeks postpartum, and a friend who's longest run had been 8 miles. My goal was to finish and to have fun.
The first few miles, I entertained a few of our group by telling them about a horrendous birth I had just attended. It was the week prior and the indignities, disrespect, and abuse were fresh on my mind. I ranted for a good 2-3 miles.
Mile 3 my knee is starting to stab, so I yank off the tape the PT had put on the night before at a late night appointment (6pm. she was good to me.)
Mile 5, and I'm still hanging with my homies, (there's my friend T who ran the 10k with me) Still feeling pretty good, though I remember my knee starting to hurt pretty bad.
After mile 6 or so, my "bad" knee went completely numb. It was seriously amazing. When I was running, I felt little to no pain. Every time I stopped to walk, it was painful.
Miles 6,7,8, were pretty- most of that time spent on a greenway. E and the kids stopped and visited, too.
Mile10- My running buddies and I had planned to do walk/run (when I trained I walked after every mile for about a minute), but I ended up breaking off because it hurt too much to walk.
Mile 11, I remember thinking/praying that I was actually going to do this thing. I had 2.1 miles to go. I was going to finish!
Mile 12, my other knee started to hurt some, but my bad knee was still numb. I cried from the relief that I was going to finish.
Mile 13, there was a lady in front of me that had been there a while, but was slowing down. I saw my training girls at the finish line, telling me to kick it into gear and pass her. So, I sprint it in for the finish.
I'm in the yellow shirt. My chip time was something like 2:38:07
Some of my running friends.
My friend T and I.
I did most of my training with this girl. She's amazing! She was such a wonderful partner. I miss running with her like crazy!
My friend's husband captured this gem right before the finish line. This is what I actually felt like the last .1.
There you have it. My half marathon. Since it may be my only half marathon I ever run, I'm glad I was able to do it with my friends and not kill myself for a certain "time".
