My First Half Marathon

My first half marathon was in November 2010, at the San Antonio Rock 'n Roll. After I ran, it I wrote about the experience in a short story. I'm so glad I did; reading it again after years of running still makes me excited for long distance races! I'm running half marathon number 7 on Sunday; and the excitement is still there!

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The sun was still sleeping when my alarm sounded that morning. Usually I hit the snooze once just to give myself a little more time to wake up. But this morning was different: I was ready. I turned off the alarm and got out of my warm, cozy bed and let a blast of chilly air hit me.


My clothes were already picked out and folded near the bed. Before shedding my warm pajamas, I took a breath and smiled. These are the clothes that I will run my first half marathon in. I dressed quickly in the chill of the morning and put my hair in a ponytail. I carefully pinned my bangs back and put on my trusty black visor. The sun was not yet awake, but I was ready.


I headed downstairs and began to prepare breakfast. On the morning of a big race, breakfast is extremely important. However, nerves and excitement tend to suppress the appetite and breakfast becomes a ritual in which you force-feed yourself whole grain toast with peanut butter and a banana.


Coffee brews in the pot loudly, as if excited to be of any assistance on this important day. The morning chill welcomes the hot coffee with open arms and instantly blood vessels come to life. As blood streams into the brain, thoughts begin to pulse through it. Did I train enough? Is it going to rain? Will my long sleeved shirt be too warm?


And then, my good old enemy, Negativity, starts consuming my thoughts. What if I don’t make it? I can barely do 10- what if I push myself so hard that I make myself pass out? What if I have to walk the entire second half?


My heart starts beating very quickly and my stomach tightens up as I force myself to swallow the last bite of breakfast.


Breathe! -Oh God, what if my lungs close up??


I begin to quickly rummage around for anything else I may need and throw it into the loud plastic race bag.


Water bottle.


Power bar.


Another banana.


Race bib and timing chip.


Arm band and headphones.


Throw on my jacket.


Grab coffee tumbler.


The part I love most about being a runner: putting on my shoes. This activity excites me about running like putting stage make-up on excites me about acting in a play. During this simple act, I carefully untie both shoes (a task I completely ignore when putting other shoes on). I put my foot in, making sure my socks don’t have painful wrinkles in them. Then, I slowly tighten the laces, working from toe to ankle and finish off with a double knot. Sounds boring enough, but this process allows me to assess my brain and physical well being before a run. Before a big race, this is where I am able to calm myself down and pump myself up. I tell my heart to slow and regulate my breathing. I tell myself that the morning’s task is possible, even if I don’t make my goal. For my first 13.1, just finishing will make me feel more accomplished than anything.


With my shoes on, I grab my favorite gray zip-up sweater, coffee, purse, and race bag and head out the door.


In my car I turn the heat on low and search for some tunes to pump me up. And I’m on my way.


The minute I pull onto the road near the parking area, I realize just how huge this event is. I start to panic- I forgot to prepare myself for the large masses of people. As a crowd-hater, this was a big mistake. I start to lose my cool while parking, grabbing a shuttle, and getting situated. Thus begins the morning of standing in lines.


Get in line to park.


Stand in line for the shuttle.


Stand in line for the bag drop.


Stand in line for the port-a-potty.


Stand in line to race.


It’s not until I’ve gotten back to my corral and see the small empty parking lot nearby that I begin to calm down. After an hour of lines, this empty cement slab is like an oasis. I begin to very slowly jog around and force myself to breathe. I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, on taking one breath at a time. Slowly, my confidence rises as I tell myself “Slow and steady wins the race.”


I check my watch, realize it’s almost time, and head toward my corral. Being slow has its perks, and one is being in a corral in the back. While others in the front are starting, we still have time for last minute adjustments- and finding friends. Luckily they were able to wave me down and together we talked about our race anxiety and how much more time we wished we’d had to train. When we began running, I was so confident and relaxed that I actually felt good. We kept each other at a slow, steady pace to conserve energy and used the time to catch up with each other. Before I knew it, we were already an hour in, and I was feeling fantastic. This wasn’t so bad, afterall! I can do this! It was shortly after that that I found myself always in front of my friends and heard them say several times that I should just go ahead- they’d meet up with me at the end. A few minutes later I looked behind to see that I had pulled ahead. I’d have to go the next 7 miles alone.


It may sound crazy (heck, just the act of running sounds crazy), but at this point I started talking positively to myself. I put my headphones in and told myself over and over, slow and steady, slow and steady.


Mile markers approached and flew by; water/drink stations became more important to watch for. Being aware of how much liquid was in my stomach was key. If I drink too much, I can feel it sloshing around and it makes me nauseous. I also did not want to run out of energy. Somehow, I got it right. Good stomach, good energy, and no port-a-potty stops, which are crucial to time.


I’m going at a steady pace on a brick road around mile 8 when I realize that both my knees feel like they are going to fall off and the bottoms of my feet are starting to throb. My old shoes are trying hard to support me, but it’s not working. I slightly panic and yell at myself for not budgeting for new shoes. I told myself this race was their last hurrah. Thanks for all the miles, shoes! For the next mile I think about the new shoes that I should get- what brand, what color, how much should I pay?


I stop my thought process to assess how I’m feeling. I’m starting to tire and my knees are in pain. I hope that a fuel station is ahead.


I trudge on, stopping to walk for the first time as I pass the 10 mile marker. I’m proud of myself for making it that far without walking. It’s not that I wanted to run the whole thing (that’s ideal), starting to run after walking is like trying to scale a wall. It’s so extremely difficult to muster the energy but I do it and make it to a fuel station.


They are offering energy gels and I take one. They are not the best, and the texture makes me want to vomit, but I’m growing tired by the second and force myself to eat it.


After the gel, we come to the split in the course where the full marathoners go straight and the halfies turn toward mile 11. At this point it all becomes a blur as adrenaline kicks in. I start to realize that I’m dodging a lot of walkers and feel like I’m sprinting to win second place. The Alamodome looms into view and I have visions of the finish line- one more mile to go! Suddenly I can’t believe I’m about to finish a 13.1 mile race. Last year I couldn’t run a 5k without stopping to walk. I’ve come a long way, even if it doesn’t feel like it in other aspects of my life.





I see the 13 mile maker ahead- only one tenth of a mile left. We turn a corner and staring us down is a giant hill. Why do they put the hills at the end? I turn up my music so I can’t hear anything else and push myself up that hill. At the top is sweet, sweet, glory. Nothing can describe the feeling of crossing that finish line and getting that medal. Finishing a long distance race, no matter the time, is a feeling that I love, and it’s what keeps me signing up for more races each year. There’s nothing like setting a goal, working hard towards that goal, and achieving it. That was half marathon number 1, and will always be my most memorable race.