Half-Marathon

"My body tells me no
But I won't quit
'Cause I want more
'Cause I want more!"
 - "My Body", by Young The Giant


My alarm went off at 5:00 am. I dressed in my running clothes, pinning my race number to my waist: 4044. When I stepped outside at 5:30, the full moon illuminated the cold darkness.

The long line of cars waiting to get into the Sam's Club parking lot reassured me that I was in the right place. Streams of people in running clothes crossed the street, heading to the start line. Eventually I found a parking spot and tried to memorize the location. (Later, when I was heading back to my car, I encountered a poor wandering woman who couldn't recall exactly where she had parked. I had done that before, and didn't envy her.)

The cold was biting. I rubbed my hands together, blowing on them and then touching them to my frozen cheeks. I wished for gloves and a hat. Before the race began at 7:00, the announcer declared, "It's a chilly morning here in Austin Texas at the start of the 3M Downhill to Downtown Half Marathon, with the temperature reading 39 degrees."

Thousands of people ran across the start line, thousands who had also woken up early and were braving the cold to run 13.1 miles. It was craziness, a sort of self-torture, so why was I and so many others doing it? Because it makes me feel so alive. The cold and pain mixed with adrenaline; running with thousands of other people and trying for a personal best is an excitement and rush unlike any other. I started to pass people, getting into my stride. I would run with people at a similar pace as me, then for motivation I would pick out someone and decide to pass them. It would be the girl with the purple tutu or the guy wearing a hat with antlers (because there are always people wearing crazy things, at least at Austin races), and I would run to them and past them. The playlist I had created the day before played from my iPhone: songs from Foster The People, OneRepublic, Moby, My Morning Jacket, Young The Giant and others.

All along the way, people had come out to cheer along the runners, some ringing cowbells and some holding up signs. One sign said, "Go Random Stranger!!" and another joked, "Worst Parade Ever!". Going through a neighborhood, someone had set up a table with a bowl of bananas cut in half, and second bowl with what looked like leftover Halloween candy, all free for the taking. Soon after there were a couple of little girls, bundled up against the cold, holding out gloved hands for high fives. I high-fived them, saying, "Thanks!" as I went by.

About five miles in, I saw a pacer: a person holding a sign saying "2:05", which meant if you kept pace with her you'd finish at about 2 hours, 5 minutes. I passed her.
This passing may sound like I'm bragging, but the truth is, I had to find positives to focus on because if I didn't, I'd focus on the cold which was making my nose run, the growing soreness of my legs and lungs, and how, especially by mile 8, I simply wanted to walk, or stop all together. Mile 8 was where it started to get really hard. The sun was rising, and in the clear light, puffs of dragons smoke appeared from every runner, from every other crazy person out there that morning.
"5 miles to go," I told myself. "Almost 2/3rds done." I willed myself not to walk. I wanted badly to finish the race in less than 2 hours.

There were policemen all along the route, most of them looking serious and busy as they made sure all was safe. Coming around a bend, a policeman stood near his car, smiling broadly at the passing runners. Someone near me called out, "Good morning! Thank you!" and suddenly many people were calling, "Thank you! Thank you sir!" The officer smiled, nodded, and waved back. All the week before, I had been thinking of the Boston Marathon. It wasn't inconceivable, sadly, that something like that could happen here. As the "thank-yous" poured from the runners around me, it was just another way in which we were all united. We knew the possible danger, however slight or real, and came out anyway.

At mile 9 I thought, "I think my hands and face are less numb!"
At mile 11 a woman held up a sign telling everyone, "You still look pretty!" I cheered and gave her a thumbs up as she laughed appreciatively.

I crossed the finish line at 1 hour 56 minutes. Volunteers placed medals around all the runners necks, fruit and Cliff bars were handed out, and photographers vied for people interested in paying for a photo. Finally I made it through the crowd and found a spot to sit down. I ate a clementine orange. It was delicious. I stretched and stretched. Minutes after I finished, my phone died. No more photos for me, but that was okay. I ate a small bag of chips, the skin on my face crusty with salt from sweating.

It was done. My first half marathon, the farthest I'd ever run. I made it in less than 2 hours and was happy. I was sore and hungry and tired and so, so happy.