Ten years later: My first half-marathon

Tomorrow is the 10-year anniversary my first marathon, an event that changed my life in so many amazing ways.  I will post my race report from that race tomorrow, but first, as a lead-up to it, here is the report from my first half-marathon - the Long Branch Half Marathon in April of 2007, as it was published at the time in my old blog, Heart and Soles:

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April 29, 2007

The race experience is quite different when you're with a group of friends. As the alarms sounded at five-something in the morning, I accepted Jean's and Ashley's invitations to go next door to their room and enjoy a bagel breakfast before packing up and heading out. With the gang all together, we drove to the event site in Long Branch, near the Ocean Place Resort. 

With thousands of participants, it was no surprise that it was tough to find parking, but we eventually settled in and picked up our race packets. All four of us were pretty nervous. I was lucky to have Karen there to pep talk me and give me one last squeeze of my bothersome right-side trapezius muscle.

It was almost time. I had trained well; I was ready. No iPod, no water bottle, this was the real thing. I had set two goals - an "idealistic" one and a "realistic" one. If I finished within a seven-minute range of the realistic one, I told Karen, I would be happy. If I was able to out-pace that and hit my idealistic target, I'd be very happy.

Lining up at the start, I saw the marathon pacers about whom Carolina had told me eariler (the New Jersey Marathon was a simultaneous event, with the marathoners doing the loop twice). I found a guy with an orange flag that displayed a time that was about eight seconds per mile faster than my idealistic goal. If I could keep up with him for at least some of the time, I'd be on the right track and then able to settle into my own groove. It occurred to me: Wow, I'm kind of in the front of the pack here. Is this where I really belong?

I must have tied and re-tied my shoes a dozen times before the starting gun. Too tight...no, too loose...argh! I'm so nervous!

Finally, the race began. After passing the cheering crowds (and a lot of them) in the first half mile, I kept my focus on the pacer. How many marathons does this guy run a year? How does he deal with holding that orange flag for 26.2 miles? How experienced does someone have to be able to pick a pace and run it with little or no fluctuation?

Somewhere in the second mile, another thought crept in; a scary, yet exciting one: I want to run faster. I tried to tell myself to hold my horses, that it was too early to push my limits, that I probably wouldn't feel like this in the tenth mile. But I also knew that this was a flat course, so there would be no hills throwing off my pace or making me work harder. If I set my own pace, I could stick with it. Worst case scenario - I pull back and meet up with Orange Flag Guy again.

I stepped up my pace, and that was the last I saw of the orange flag. Increasing to a comfortable but competitive pace, I felt a rush of excitement as I passed more cheering spectators ("Go Daniel!" they'd say, making me realize why it was extremely beneficial to have your name on your bib) and clocks showing my pace getting faster with each passing mile. By the end of the fifth mile, I was about two minutes ahead of my idealistic goal! 

Passing by the large group of spectators in the sixth mile, I scanned the crowd for Karen. Seeing her, I shouted, "I AM VERY HAPPY!" Only she knew what I really meant by that, but it garnered a few chuckles from the crowd.

Somehow, I continued the pace through the tenth mile. The cheering spectators, the live musicians (I even sang out loud with "Back In Black"), the folks dressed in hula skirts who gave me a lei, the flat course, and excellent weather conditions, all made me feel so full of energy and positivity that I never once felt tired. No fatigue, no pain, all joy. This was a perfect race.

Running along Ocean Avenue for the beginning of the end - the last three miles - I knew that no matter what happened from this point, the outcome was going to be a good one. I can even slow down and STILL finish with a favorable time. But instead of slowing down, I sped up. None of what transpired in the past 10 miles mattered anymore, this was now merely just some piece-of-cake 5K. I can bang this out in less than 20 minutes.

I probably started pushing it too fast, too soon, because when I passed the sign that read, "One mile to go!" I was pretty much in full-on sprint mode. This is going to hurt, but what's the point of slowing down now? It did, there wasn't, so I didn't.

I was on the boardwalk, the finish line wasn't yet in view, but there were now throngs of spectators to my left, all cheering me on. Me! Little ol' me. Little ol' never-been-an-athlete, can't-play-a-sport-worth-a-damn, could've-easily-failed-gym-class, ME! They're calling me by name! The lei, flapping on my neck, had people laughing and saying, "Aloha!" (I don't think spectators are used to goofballs like me being in the top 10%.) 

My legs were chugging as fast as they could go, my heart was pounding and my head was practically spinning. Tears were streaming down my face and I was grinning like a fool. As I zoomed by, I heard someone say, "Is he laughing or crying?"

I heard the reply, "I think a little bit of both."

The time on the clock at the finish line was four full minutes faster than my idealistic goal! I don't quite remember what I did or said when I crossed the line. I remember huffing and puffing and wanting very badly to keep moving as the nice volunteer and I struggled to remove the timing chip from my ankle. After a big hug from Karen and a desperate search for water, I walked for a while to cool down. I drank the water a little too fast and thought it was going to come right back up, but thankfully, it didn't.

For the next hour I cheered the rest of the runners in, calling as many as I could by name as they pushed to the finish line. I gave big shout-outs to Carolina, Jean, Ashley and my friend Elaine, as they ran the final stretch on the boardwalk. Once the gang was back together, we went inside where they were serving a fantastic array of food. On my way in, I noticed they were posting the results. With almost 3000 participants, it seemed logical to start looking around 200th place on the list since I'm no big athlete but I usually squeak by into the top 10 percent. I scanned up, up, up... 

100th...50th...40th...No way!!! 30th place? Out of 2700? I'll say it again...I am VERY happy!

This was exciting news, but I was also incredibly hungry, so I grabbed whatever I could - a bagel! Vegetarian chili! Cereal! Pretzels! Anything! Just give it to me and let me shove it down my gullet! We went to Red Bank to have a proper lunch, proudly displaying our medals, and spent some time at the stores in the town.

We capped the day by treating ourselves to some dessert at the ice cream shop; and we did it without any guilt. We deserved it.

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The next day, I sent an email to Jean, Ashley and Carolina, the fellow runners with whom I trained and traveled for the race:

Gals,
I want to tell you how proud I am of all of us. We signed up for the race, trained hard and reached our goals – all within a matter of months. We didn’t let the number of miles intimidate us; we stuck to our guns and trained through the winter; and we crossed that finish line, head held high.
This was the longest and farthest I’ve ever run and, if I remember correctly, the same goes for you, too. Personally, I would’ve never dreamed of this a year and a half ago.
We really did it...and we should feel super-good about ourselves. I’m glad we experienced the whole thing, from training to pre-race dinner to post race celebration, together.

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This pic is from a race we ran five months earlier, but all the gals from the gang are in it.  Clockwise from top left are me; my running guru, Tim Norris; Ashley; our co-worker, Harry; a guy who I think was Ashley's boyfriend at the time; Carolina; and Jean.