It has been a few weeks since the running of my half marathon. I have sat in this very chair many times to report back to you, but my typing fingers have been on strike. In fact my whole body has been on strike and my mind decided to join it.
After having completed my first Marathon last year, this year my training has changed to suit a new goal. It has been to decrease my 5km time enough to see if I might be competitive at the Australian Masters National Championships next year. So for me to throw in a half marathon mid-season was not really on the agenda. I registered for it months ago, so now I looked upon it as shaking things up a bit, nothing to get too serious about. My training hasn’t been based on running a fast half marathon. Throw in an operation, time off with sickness and you could say I didn’t have the best preparation. So I treated it like any other Sunday run, but I still wanted to challenge myself and run it as fast my body would allow.
My week leading up to the event was an absolute ‘shocker.’ I seem to be exhausted every minute I was awake. Usually if I wake feeling tired, I can go for a run, get a shot of endorphins and sunshine and be bouncing again. But this week, it was an effort to do anything. The more I pushed myself, the worse it got. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted as well as physically. The smallest of incidents would trigger an unending stream of tears. Maybe I was hormonal too, who knew? I was too tired to even contemplate what the cause might be, all I could think about was how it would affect my race on Sunday. And to top it all off, I could feel a strain in my calf that had been there for a couple of weeks. I kept telling myself I just had to get through one more race, I could then take some time off.
My training sessions this week were very slow and not productive. Because of the lack of quality, I was not getting the benefit I was aiming for. After completing a session I would fall in a big heap and want to sleep. I decided to skip the next training session and half the distance of my remaining ones 
to allow my body to rest. Once I stopped fighting the way I felt and allowed myself to recover, it was easier to cope with mentally. I could only do what I was capable of on the day. After all, a half marathon was not my goal, so in the big scheme of things, how much did the result matter? This is how I justified it in my mind. I let it go and for the rest of the week focused on filling up my body with good quality food, stayed well hydrated and got plenty of sleep.
I had many friends running the full marathon and wanted to be there early to see them off and absorb the electric atmosphere. Running on my home turf gives the ultimate motivation. To swoop past familiar faces, fellow training buddies and be cheered by other non-participating competitors is a feeling worth bottling. For me, nothing compares. I couldn’t wait to get out there. Bring on that starter gun.
Even though this was not supposed to be a big deal for me, the nerves were bouncing around in my stomach making me feel uneasy. The only cure for this was to get started. As soon as my legs started turning over, I knew I could get on with the job at hand rather than mull it over in my mind for the fiftieth time.
I needed a target time to ensure I had a race plan to follow; I function better this way. I didn’t have an exact time in mind, although anything sub one hour and forty minutes I would be very happy with. Even one second under would be great. Coming first in my age group was also floating around in the back of my mind, but after the lead up week I had, I was lucky to be running at all. Maybe I could let that one go!
After farewelling my Marathon friends, twenty minutes later, I was standing on the start line with my stomach still churning. ‘Where was my family? I wonder if they have arrived yet. Will they see me off? I sure could use a reassuring cheer to get me on my way.’ Five minutes later I gave up the search to find them in the ever-increasing crowd.
A count down to the gun echoing through the speakers found me amidst the crowd, jostling to find my place. I prefer not to get caught in a pack, I need space to breathe and I like to see what’s ahead. It took a while for the pack to filter out. I wanted to keep my pace under 4.45 mins per km, but for the first couple of kms, I was determined not to get caught up in the fast pace. I wanted warm up my body properly and ensure I wouldn’t fade toward the end. I was feeling much better, the rest had done wonders. I was not at my best, but feeling great considering the struggle I had to run five days ago. I could feel my calf was, shall I say, a little more than a niggle, but I could still run without it effecting my stride, so I continued with a keen dedication.
The 5km mark saw us heading back where we started. Coming into the crowd certainly was morale building. In the sea of faces, I could see my son and daughter cheering for me. I felt a tear spring to my eye. ‘Good job Mum…… Looking good…….. Go Dee……… keep that pace, you’re doing great.’ The voices of my friends, my hubby, my cherubs and our running group. My day was complete. Well, not quite, still another 19km to go, but that made moment made my day. It was time to get on with the job. I decided to step it up a little at this point, the encouragement spurring me on.
By the 12km mark, I was starting to feel it and my pace had slowed. I had been pushing pretty hard and my body was starting to fatigue. I could feel pushing past my comfort zone was demanding on my whole system. I had to pace myself now with still 9km to go, I didn’t want to crash and burn. It was feeling like I wouldn’t reach my sub 1.40 goal.
I was passing some of the marathoners and giving some words of inspiration. The stuff I needed to hear, I think. It was getting hot out there and they still had multiple laps to go. ‘You’ve got this…….you can do it……..keep going………you’re looking strong.’ Before I knew it, I had only 5km to go. My body was aching and I could feel some intense pain in my calf. ‘I only have a Park Run to go’, I told myself, ‘you can do this’. Head down, bum up, I focussed on using my larger muscles to get me through. I lifted a little and pulled that finish line toward me.
As I rounded the corner with 1 km to go, I saw my son leaning against the telephone pole. He had agreed to run to the finish line and bring me home. He stood there very unenthused with an uninterested yawn escaping his mouth. I ran to the inside and pleaded, ‘Please come with me.’ I was so grateful when he jumped in beside me. Pre race, we had discussed finishing with a sub 4 min km but I knew I didn’t have that left. He was so patient, yet insistent with me, ‘Come on Mum, keep breathing……..nice and deep. Faster Mum, we’re nearly there…….Breathe!’ I felt like telling him where to get off, I was doing the best I could, but I knew it was the fatigue talking and I was grateful to have his help. After all, he was doing exactly what I had asked him to do.
His fresh young legs were so much faster than mine but I fought to keep up. I was mortified to find he was leaving me just before the home stretch, but there was only 200m to go and he knew I would fight every inch of it for a PB. My calf was now inflicting a piercing pain and my lungs were shot, but I kept pushing. The roaring crowd was bringing me home and helped me dig deeper. With pain written all over my face, I ran as hard as I could. Again I saw my family’s faces and I 
knew I could do it. I rounded the last bend over taking another 3 people to cross the line in 1:36.36. I was well under my goal and so very relieved. I had done it and was proud that I was able to finish.
The cheerful faces of the volunteers were a welcome delight. One of them kindly draped my hard-earned medal around my neck and ushered me toward the 
refreshment tables. I grabbed a handful of fruit and water and headed for our tent. My family greeted me with big hugs and again my tears flowed. I was so glad to be able to fall into the arms of my loved ones after a gruelling run……..the best part of finishing a race.
As my muscles began to cool, I could feel the damage in my right calf becoming more noticable. It didn’t feel like anything serious, but I would need some time off for it to recover. Something I could do now my half marathon was over. But for today, I would celebrate with my fellow runners on all of our achievements.
Running Off at the Mouth.... 