I ran my second half-marathon race (13.1 miles) yesterday. The last one I ran was when I was 16.

I signed up for the Frostbite Half-Marathon a week ago. I had always intended to run it, but something always come up or I was woefully out of shape. But this year, I had done a few 6 mile runs, I had nothing else to do that Saturday, and I was NOT going to let this opportunity pass me by again! The race began at noon, so I prepared by drinking 3 cups of coffee, some hot chocolate, and half a protein bar. And 1200 mg of ibuprofen. Jeremy drove me there, shaking his head all the while at my bullheaded foolishness but knowing better than to say anything.

Wearing a pair of old MSU track shorts and my ASPCA t-shirt with a kitten on it (because you gotta represent!), I got on a bus and was driven out to Pheba, a little po-dunk town 13.1 miles away from Oktibbeha County Hospital where we would be fittingly finishing.

Naturally, Meggan was there, looking leet in her black and neon green shorts, sports bra, and arm warmers. I waved and went to huddle in an abandoned bbq pit which happened to be in lee of the wind where I ran into Mr. Tom Thompson, the photographer for MSU-CVM. We were both nervous and cold, which we quickly bonded over. After a quick celebratory picture on his iphone, we assembled at the start.

And we started. I did REALLY well for the first 6.55 miles. I mean, seriously, I think I have a future in marathoning. I was able to run the first 7 miles at 7 minute pace. And I was like, "Holla, y'all, I'm super awesome at this!" and I was passing these guys and they were like, "Whoa, you're so fast! You must run a lot." and I was like, "No, but I used to run for State." and they were very impressed.
And I was thinking, "Man, I got this in the BAG. My endurance is my strong point! All I have to do is manage my breathing and I am GOLDEN."

And then, the impossible happened. My legs tied up. That has really never happened to me before, ever. It's awful! Before it's always been my heart and lungs that gave out, never my actual leg muscles. But on mile 8, my legs let me know that I was writing checks they couldn't cash. Not by a looooooong shot. And I had 5 miles to go.

I had a chat with my legs. I was like, "Look guys, we're just gonna take this nice and easy, drop down to 8 min/mile pace and then we'll kick it in the last 3 miles, you dig?" They didn't respond but I figured I had gotten through to them.

I first started to question if I could finish without walking at mile 10. All of my muscles were very upset, and I knew I would pay a high price for my idiocy. But I was/am proud. Too proud. We (my legs and I, because at that point we were functionally two different beings with two very different goals) soldiered on, painfully, at a roughly 8-9 min pace. I was fascinated by the raging storm of stiffness and discomfort that had enveloped my legs. Even as my breathing remained even and chipper, my leg muscles were being ripped to confetti shreds. Fascinating.

Things got pretty bad the last two miles. To ask anything more than not walking was too much, which made the last two miles very slow and the tying up sensation was traveling upwards to my diaphragm. The phenomenon was much less fascinating by this point. People were yelling, "Kick, kick!" which made me lol.  I finished the race in 1:43, which Jeremy calculated to be 7.8 min/mile pace, under my goal pace of 8 min/mile.

Jeremy met me at the finish, and on my urgent request of "OhmygoshIneedgatoradenow" he almost laughed, but good-naturedly went to find some while I stood and tried to stare my quivering legs down. I knew that sitting down would be a mistake as I would not be able to rise again.

The rest of the evening was consumed with my urgent quest for salt and NSAIDs, ultimately culminating in a limping trip to the Piggly-Wiggly to obtain ibuprofen and pickles.