Just another girl's story about running her first half marathon....

I found this in my drafts tonight- a post I started after running the Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon on May 19, 2013. This was worth finishing up and sharing!

thirteen point freaking one miles.

The week before the Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon was a strange one. I had injured my right quad/hip flexor group from training a bit too much/too fast and walked with a limp. My training ended at week ten out of twelve and even a 6 mile easy run was too difficult. Five days before the race, I decided my best course of action was to just rest and, if anything, do some light cross training. I figured I might as well let my leg heal the most it could. My goal had gone from a finish time of 2 hours and 30 minutes to "just finishing".

Sunday morning, I woke up at 5:15am. (actually, I was up with Mr. Ezra, AKA teething mess baby at 4:30 and then snoozed from 4:55-5:15). I slathered my nasty gluten free bagel in cream cheese and choked down half of it. I was too nervous to finish it, but I gave it my best. I sucked down my Zip Fizz (there may be more than one "P" in the "Zip", but its one of my pet peeves when things are intentionally misspelled,) and met two of my partners in crime to carpool to the race. We arrived with plenty of time to check our items and use the port-a-potties. I found my pace group and waited patiently for the start of the race.

I don't remember a lot about the race itself. I remember seeing my bestie's mother in law and her husband in the crowd at mile 3, and they enthusiastically cheered for me as I passed. That gave me a huge boost. Then I found the 2:30 pacers (experienced runners who carry a sign with a pace time on it to help the other runners). There was a very long and difficult hill around mile 7-8. This was probably the turning point for me, and one of the few things I remember. I remember wanting to stop and walk, and then approaching a curvy female runner running in tiny briefs with a clever phrase written across her rear. I laughed, and thanked her for the giggle. Suddenly I had a burst of energy, and I passed the 2:30 pace team. I never looked back. I experienced moments of being tired and wondering if I would ever finish. I would often pray through those moments and then all of a sudden be hit with a burst of energy to keep going. The only time I lost my breath was when I would become emotional about how proud I was for doing the race; and how thankful to God I was for healing my leg and taking away my pain enough for me to run that day (shout out to NSAIDS, too, Ibu). I think I experienced the elusive "runner's high", which I'm pretty sure is equal parts endorphins and delirium. Either way, it was amazing.

I finished the race in 2 hours 23 minutes- much better than my original goal! I crossed the finish line and immediately located a recovery beverage/snack. I also was handed a finisher's medal to hang around my neck; which made me cry a little bit. I DID it! I ran 13.1 miles and did not stop to walk once! (I did have to stop for a minute for them to let traffic pass at mile 12...but this was not a welcome break, because I was so close to being done and this only added a minute to my time!).

I found my girls after the race and we shared stories and took pictures together. Then we went out for lunch to replenish our tired soles (see what I did there?) When we completed our meal, I went to stand up, only to realize I couldn't walk. My injured tendon that had loosened up during the run had tightened back up with a vengeance. For 3-4 days, I walked around like a 96 year old man. I took a good month off from serious running and my leg healed up after 6 weeks of baby-ing it and cross training.

But never, not once, did I have a single regret about the whole thing. That experience will go down in history as the day I proved myself that I am better than I give myself credit for. I am capable of anything, no matter what it is.