I've crossed the 10K split in 1:09:37, thanks to my lost time at the start. That comes out to an 11:12 pace per mile. If you take off 3:30, I could have had a 1:06:07 split, which would have been a far more awesome 10:38 pace per mile. For comparison's sake, when I ran my 5K race last fall, I ran 9:40 miles. Running only 1 minute per mile slower over twice the distance is pretty fabulous!
The stream of runners is still surprisingly heavy as we all swing left onto Detroit Avenue, which is, to put it charitably, not the most attractive thoroughfare I've ever seen...oh, who am I kidding, it's butt ugly. Might as well call a spade a spade.
The Western Reserve Rowing Association (amazing, they're not even runners!) came out in force and set up across from The Harp pub on Detroit Avenue at mile 6.5. With a big drum and plenty of spirit, they cheered the runners on. The video is very cute, and you'll see Kelli and Amy at the 3:20 mark (the guy yells "Go Team in Training!" and they wave). You'll also see a running juggler at 4:52. I saw him just after my port-a-potty stop back near the start line.
A little further down Detroit Avenue, there is an amazing group of trash-can drummers on the left. I really enjoy their drumming, and it pumps me up at a time when I'm starting to sag a bit. I wonder if I went out just a little fast on the first 10K. It's not much longer before I see the next water stop--yay! Definitely time for another gel. I had my first at Mile 4.5, and now we are just shy of Mile 8. The morning is still cool, and the apple cinnamon gel seems appealing in the brisk air. I get Powerade and have to waste precious seconds giving it back and hunting up water before I can take the gel. I squeeze and fold and squeeze and fold the packet several times to make sure I get all of the apple-y goodness out of it.
I make the turn onto Lake Avenue, and the neighborhood improves noticeably as we come into the Lakewood/Edgewater area. Not far after the turn, the walk coaches, Anna and Denise, are standing there on the left cheering! They are such bubbly happy people. It is wonderful to see them! Anna (with the green headband and purple gloves) gives me a high-five as I run past.
Shortly afterward, to my great relief, I finally catch Amy and Kelli! Now I know that I am running a satisfactory pace.The crowd support in this area is fantastic. There are clumps of people for most of the next mile, and they are all clapping and cheering and yelling "Go Team! Go Amanda!" When we swing around the tight turn at Lake and W. 104th, there are fifteen to twenty cheerleaders in matching outfits with gold pom-poms lining the curve, and they all yell "Gooooo Team in Training! Go!" I almost start crying. You know when someone talks about "feeling the love"? Well, I definitely felt it there! Amanda said I was a rock star, and for that entire stretch, I most definitely was.
One more turn, and then we're heading down a gentle hill with enormous oaks shading us overhead. We're coming into Edgewater Park. I am excited to recognize the start of the Hermes 10-Miler course, and just before we head into the park, the Mile 9 gel/water stop is upon us. The volunteers are standing off to the side yelling out their gel flavors like newspaper boys: "Vanilla! Getcher Vanilla right here!" "Orange! Orange orange orange here!" "Choc-o-late! Delicious Choc-o-late!" I give up trying to listen and figure out what I actually want and grab an orange one, even though I am not doing another gel until Mile 11.
The Powerade table is just ahead on the left. Time for salt packet #2 and a cool cup of lemon-lime Powerade. It tastes delicious and refreshing, which means I really needed it.
Miles 9, 10, and 11 are definitely the toughest part of the race. We run only a few hundred yards through the park before turning onto an on-ramp that will put us on the Shoreway, a major elevated highway. The camber on the ramp is terrible, and my hips waste no time in letting me know they're not happy.
Up until this point in the race, I have felt very little pain or soreness--mostly just body parts "saying hello," hurting a bit for a quarter-mile and then shutting up again. One of the books I read during my taper, the Non-Runner's Marathon Trainer, has some excellent advice on the mental side of long-distance racing. The authors suggest you acknowledge pain with a simple, "Hi there, pain. Come run with me for a while." For me, this strategy worked exceedingly well.
The Shoreway section is really tough for several reasons. First, it starts with a long uphill, the only significant hill in the race. Second, it's practically deserted. There are almost no people up here cheering us on when we really need it. And third, the wind! Yikes! It's very stiff, and it's a crosswind blowing off the lake to our left. It feels like there's someone standing next to my left shoulder and shoving me at random moments. It's very disconcerting, and after 9 miles with no wind to speak of, you can't help but notice how you're being blown around. I try getting in behind other people and seeing if I can get them to block the wind, but I can't seem to find the right angle.
I feel lonely and windblown, and my brain is starting to short-circuit a little. My inner jukebox starts playing Linda Ronstadt's "It's So Easy (To Fall in Love)," except it's changing the chorus line to "It's so easy to run for Mom..it's so easy to RUUUUUUNN for Mom!" This loops for a solid half mile and makes me contemplate jumping over the side just to shut it up. ("It's so easy, so easy, so easy, so easy..." AAAAGHH!!)
I pass Mile 10 and look at my watch. I ran a 1:42:08 in the Hermes 10-miler. I am several minutes slower than that today. Oh, well. Up ahead, I see a guy that immediately causes my inner whine machine to shut up. He has a flagpole strapped to his back, and there are three flags on what must be a six-to-eight-foot flagpole. It's like he's a sailboat with a mast sticking out of his back. There's an American flag, a Marine Corps flag, and a POW/MIA flag. Wow. He has run over 10 miles with this giant thing on his back, and now the wind is batting him around like a cat toy, and do you see him complaining?
At mile 10.7, the WRRA, our friends from the earlier cheering station at Mile 6.5, are back! They have a jukebox belting out uplifting tunes, and they are calling encouragingly to the runners. (The song playing as I run by is "Celebrate." "Ceeeeel-e-brate good times, COME ON!") If you watch the video, you'll see the Amazing Flag Guy at 4:14, and then if you watch verrry carefully, you'll see a flash of purple and blue as the camera pans back away from him at 4:24. That's me! If you hit the pause button at just the right moment, you can see me!
Not long after the WRRA craziness, I see two characters in costume on the left side. For a second, I wonder if I am hallucinating, but no--Bert and Ernie are standing there! I put my left hand out as I pass and get rousing high-fives from both of them. Now I can say I have been high-fived by Sesame Street characters during a road race!
Not too much longer, and I see the Mile 11 flag waving in the wind and the Mile 11 water stop! It's time to take one last gel. I have three in my pocket: orange, raspberry, and espresso, with 50 mg of caffeine. I definitely want to pull out the big guns here, so I try to hold on to the espresso gel while I put the others back in my pocket. The espresso gel slips out of my fingers and falls to the ground! Oh no!! I debate just leaving it there, but man, I really need the caffeine, and after two steps, I turn around to go back for it. Runners give me the stink-eye as they dodge me, but I soon have the precious cargo back in my hand and grab some water. Once again, I have forgotten to open the packet before I take the water, so I set the cup on the concrete divider wall between the westbound and eastbound lanes and concentrate on opening the gel.
Wow, does that EVER taste good. I "mmmmmm" appreciatively as I walk and sip water and suck down the gel, and after thirty seconds or so, I start running again. There's a slight uphill grade, but I just keep on keepin' on. This is where I see the best sign of the whole race, and bless the woman for walking along the shoulder and holding it high above her head:
CHUCK NORRIS NEVER RAN A MARATHON
The runners clap and cheer and tell her she is made of awesome.
About halfway through Mile 11, it hits me: Oh my God, I am going to finish this race! I am going to finish a half-marathon! Less than two miles to go! I am going to make it!! Heck, I could probably walk it in from here and still be under 2:30! Wow!! And everything feels a little easier, a little smoother, a little more relaxed. Maybe it's just the caffeine kicking in, but I feel content and at peace. Life is good, and this is great.
Off to my right, there's a large brick warehouse, clearly 70 or 80 years old from the look of it, and it has a name emblazoned across the top in old-fashioned letters: "THE BINGHAM CO." I smile and think of John Bingham, whose marathon strategy is "to finish [the race] the same day I start." I think he'd be very satisfied with how I'm running this race. I am having so much fun and really enjoying the experience.
As I close in on Mile 12, I check my watch. In training, I only ran 12 miles once, and I covered the distance in 2:12:03. I'm hoping I can beat that today. As I sweep by the "MILE 12" flag swaying in the wind, I glance at my wrist: 2:10:00 flat. Awesome!! I could still come in under 2:20 if I really rock out the last 1.1 miles.
We exit the Shoreway the same way we got on it, only this time we're going down the ramp, not up it, and then sweeping to the right while the full marathoners continue to the left. To make sure no one gets confused, they've put a giant light-up construction sign in the road. Instead of the usual "LEFT LANE CLOSED AHEAD" or "NIGHT PAVING 10 PM - 6 AM," it says "MARATHON TURN LEFT. HALF MARATHON TURN RIGHT." Angela was worried about this split before the race, but the huge lights make an impression on even my addled brain, and I take off to the right.
There's a crowd of people just past the split, and a huge cheer goes up as a big pack of us streams by. For a moment, I wonder if my dad might be here somewhere. I haven't seen any of my family at all yet. Wouldn't it be ironic if my parents came all this way to watch me race and I never even saw them? That would suck.
The last water station is just ahead. The course analysis guy on Friday told me it was only 3/4 of a mile from there to the finish. I wouldn't mind a quick drink of water, but all the volunteers holding cups are yelling "Powerade! Powerade!" "Where's the WATER??" I ask one of them. "Up at the corner," she says, gesturing onward. I look where she's pointing and don't see anything. What the heck?
To my unbridled delight, Coach Rob and Coach Paul are standing on the right at the turn onto St. Clair. "Great race!" says Coach Paul. "You're doing a fantastic job!" By this point, I am equal parts euphoric and demented, so I give them both huge high-fives and shout, "I am kicking this race's ASS!!" and tear off around the corner, all thoughts of getting a drink forgotten.
Hi, Dad!!
That was just the boost I needed at the end. I pick it up a little more. This is so exciting! I'm almost there! I turn the corner onto East 9th, the road where this wild journey began over two hours ago. People are clapping and cheering and yelling "Go Amanda! Lookin' good! Go Team in Training!"
I come around the last corner and there are hundreds of people behind the white barriers, cheering and clapping.
Cheering. Whooping. Hollering. For me. (Yes, I suppose there are a few other runners there, but they are irrelevant.)
I can see the massive finish line banner. It's two hundred yards away.
There is some huge orchestra score coming out of the loudspeakers. It sounds like a movie soundtrack, and in a way, it is. It's the soundtrack for Amanda Kicks the Half-Marathon's Ass Even Though She Hasn't Been A Runner For Very Long And OMG This Is Not A Dream, This Is Really Happening! (The long title would make it hard to put up on movie marquees, however, no doubt depressing box-office sales.)
The soaring music and the crowds of people and the finish line and the announcer just--I am *this* close to bawling my eyes out, but choking up makes it impossible to breathe, and I need to keep breathing to keep running, so I pull it together and take my last steps from runner to half-marathon finisher, from hopeful to champion, from promise made to promise kept.
Even though the pictures tell a different story, I feel like I am the only person there, the only runner for miles, and the world around me fades to perfect stillness. It's just me and my heartbeat and my footstrikes and the red glow of the timer. A couple more steps...I throw my arms up in triumph, fling myself across the red and blue plates.
Ta-da!
Check out ma bling, yo!
No banana has ever tasted THIS good!
Three proud half-marathon finishers and their medals!
Front of medal
Back of medal
Special Team in Training pin goes on the ribbon
When I got home, there was a lovely congratulatory plant from Betsy and Steve waiting for me on the patio! Thanks!!
My official time was 2:19:21!! I did it! I am a half-marathoner!
The runners clap and cheer and tell her she is made of awesome.
About halfway through Mile 11, it hits me: Oh my God, I am going to finish this race! I am going to finish a half-marathon! Less than two miles to go! I am going to make it!! Heck, I could probably walk it in from here and still be under 2:30! Wow!! And everything feels a little easier, a little smoother, a little more relaxed. Maybe it's just the caffeine kicking in, but I feel content and at peace. Life is good, and this is great.
Off to my right, there's a large brick warehouse, clearly 70 or 80 years old from the look of it, and it has a name emblazoned across the top in old-fashioned letters: "THE BINGHAM CO." I smile and think of John Bingham, whose marathon strategy is "to finish [the race] the same day I start." I think he'd be very satisfied with how I'm running this race. I am having so much fun and really enjoying the experience.
As I close in on Mile 12, I check my watch. In training, I only ran 12 miles once, and I covered the distance in 2:12:03. I'm hoping I can beat that today. As I sweep by the "MILE 12" flag swaying in the wind, I glance at my wrist: 2:10:00 flat. Awesome!! I could still come in under 2:20 if I really rock out the last 1.1 miles.
We exit the Shoreway the same way we got on it, only this time we're going down the ramp, not up it, and then sweeping to the right while the full marathoners continue to the left. To make sure no one gets confused, they've put a giant light-up construction sign in the road. Instead of the usual "LEFT LANE CLOSED AHEAD" or "NIGHT PAVING 10 PM - 6 AM," it says "MARATHON TURN LEFT. HALF MARATHON TURN RIGHT." Angela was worried about this split before the race, but the huge lights make an impression on even my addled brain, and I take off to the right.
There's a crowd of people just past the split, and a huge cheer goes up as a big pack of us streams by. For a moment, I wonder if my dad might be here somewhere. I haven't seen any of my family at all yet. Wouldn't it be ironic if my parents came all this way to watch me race and I never even saw them? That would suck.
The last water station is just ahead. The course analysis guy on Friday told me it was only 3/4 of a mile from there to the finish. I wouldn't mind a quick drink of water, but all the volunteers holding cups are yelling "Powerade! Powerade!" "Where's the WATER??" I ask one of them. "Up at the corner," she says, gesturing onward. I look where she's pointing and don't see anything. What the heck?
To my unbridled delight, Coach Rob and Coach Paul are standing on the right at the turn onto St. Clair. "Great race!" says Coach Paul. "You're doing a fantastic job!" By this point, I am equal parts euphoric and demented, so I give them both huge high-fives and shout, "I am kicking this race's ASS!!" and tear off around the corner, all thoughts of getting a drink forgotten.
I'm just over halfway down St. Clair when my heart leaps. My dad!! He's on the left! I see him and he sees me! I break out into a huge grin and start waving. He grins and waves back and then aims his camera and shoots rapid-fire as I go by, click-click-click-click-click-click-click, a digital machine gun!
Hi, Dad!!That was just the boost I needed at the end. I pick it up a little more. This is so exciting! I'm almost there! I turn the corner onto East 9th, the road where this wild journey began over two hours ago. People are clapping and cheering and yelling "Go Amanda! Lookin' good! Go Team in Training!"
I come around the last corner and there are hundreds of people behind the white barriers, cheering and clapping.
Cheering. Whooping. Hollering. For me. (Yes, I suppose there are a few other runners there, but they are irrelevant.)
I can see the massive finish line banner. It's two hundred yards away.
There is some huge orchestra score coming out of the loudspeakers. It sounds like a movie soundtrack, and in a way, it is. It's the soundtrack for Amanda Kicks the Half-Marathon's Ass Even Though She Hasn't Been A Runner For Very Long And OMG This Is Not A Dream, This Is Really Happening! (The long title would make it hard to put up on movie marquees, however, no doubt depressing box-office sales.)
The soaring music and the crowds of people and the finish line and the announcer just--I am *this* close to bawling my eyes out, but choking up makes it impossible to breathe, and I need to keep breathing to keep running, so I pull it together and take my last steps from runner to half-marathon finisher, from hopeful to champion, from promise made to promise kept.
Even though the pictures tell a different story, I feel like I am the only person there, the only runner for miles, and the world around me fades to perfect stillness. It's just me and my heartbeat and my footstrikes and the red glow of the timer. A couple more steps...I throw my arms up in triumph, fling myself across the red and blue plates.
I did it! I did it! I did it! I just ran a freakin' half-marathon! I stagger over to a person handing out medals, remember to stop my watch while he hangs one around the neck of the person in front of me, and then bow my head to receive my prize. To his credit, the man manages to wind the medal past my visor and sunglasses, which I am still wearing, and let it drop perfectly around my neck. "Congratulations," he says, a serious man in a suit. "Thank you," I choke out, and then I walk away from the finish and can't quite stifle a few sobs. A man puts a banana in my hand, I grab a cup of Powerade, a bag of pretzels, and a bottle of water, and then I remember I am supposed to go check in at the Team in Training tent.
I get to the back of the chute and start to make my way through the crowd when I see a purple shirt standing off to the side. It's Mike!
"Mike!!" I yell, and he sees me and grins. I throw my arms around him and start crying. "Mike, we did it! We really did it!"
"You just spilled Powerade all over my shirt," Mike says, but he seems more amused than annoyed. "Are you crying?"
My dad eventually finds me at the TNT tent, and much picture-taking ensues!
I get to the back of the chute and start to make my way through the crowd when I see a purple shirt standing off to the side. It's Mike!
"Mike!!" I yell, and he sees me and grins. I throw my arms around him and start crying. "Mike, we did it! We really did it!"
"You just spilled Powerade all over my shirt," Mike says, but he seems more amused than annoyed. "Are you crying?"
***
My dad eventually finds me at the TNT tent, and much picture-taking ensues!
Ta-da!
Check out ma bling, yo!
No banana has ever tasted THIS good!
Three proud half-marathon finishers and their medals!
Front of medal
Back of medal
Special Team in Training pin goes on the ribbon
When I got home, there was a lovely congratulatory plant from Betsy and Steve waiting for me on the patio! Thanks!!
My official time was 2:19:21!! I did it! I am a half-marathoner!
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