Earlier today I just ran - and finished - my first half-marathon. I love the feeling of finishing a race. I previously wrote a post describing what it was like to train for a half-marathon. Towards the end of my 15 week training period, I was feeling mentally demotivated. I love running but was getting tired of the training regimen that dictated my week. Each week I would complete one long run, one speed run, one tempo run, and one recovery run if I had the time. I also made myself do strength training every week to prevent injury. And yoga once a week to soothe the muscles.
The last two weeks before a race is suppose to be the tapering period, where you reduce your mileage and allow your body to recover. It's a good thing that my tapering period coincided with Christmas and the New Year. Who wants to be exercising all the time when there is so much delicious food to eat? I still had to do something, just not as much as before. With all those long runs farther and farther away in the rearview mirror, however, I was doubting my ability to reach my race goal. Trust the training, my husband would tell me.
I reluctantly got out of bed around 6:45 am this morning to eat breakfast. It seems like Japanese races, like the Japanese work place, starts later than their American counterparts. Our 9:30 am start gave me plenty of time to eat and digest. I ate a small bowl of muesli, an onigiri, half a banana, and an espresso. We were out the door and on our way by 8 am, as the race site was 45 minutes away by metro.
Japan has a long and intense tradition of long distance running. Whereas races in Chicago were fun events, sometimes even family events, races here feel more serious. I think it is far more common to be a casual runner who runs races for fun in America. And so when we arrived at the race site, everyone looked serious and professional. At the start line, my husband practically sprinted off, turning around to wave good-bye.
The hardest thing about long distance running is that you are not fully in control of what happens to your body. You can push through 5 kilometers with as much as speed as you can muster, but 21 kilometers requires preparation, restraint, and a bit of estimation. The most difficult part of the first few miles was not allowing the environment and adrenaline to get the better of me. I had to hold myself back when I wanted to run faster. I had to focus on my own running and save enough energy for the rest of the race. But I also didn't want to go so slowly as to look back on my pace and have regrets. It was an ongoing conversation I had with myself throughout the race.
It was a sunny and relatively warm winter day - great running conditions, though I would have preferred some clouds. Since the sun dehydrates you more quickly, I grabbed a cup of water as I passed a hydration station. Let me tell you, drinking water from a cup while running is a skill by itself. It's not something I usually do, and I was terrible at it. What I drank was half water and half air. I felt a giant air bubble in my chest as the water went down.
I peaked around mile 8. At that point, my muscles were warmed up and engaged. I had plenty of energy left and felt I could run my fastest. I also knew from practice runs, however, that my energy deteriorates rapidly after mile 11. This part of the run, the third quarter, is the ultimate balancing act. You want to run full out, but you know that you shouldn't. Turns out my husband went full speed ahead, and though he burned through his energy earlier than planned, he had enough physical and mental resolve to push through the pain and reach the finish line.
I played it safer. I felt in control at the end of the race in the sense that I did not need to stop. My husband later told me that I looked a little too relaxed. I probably could have pushed myself more, but the problem was, I couldn't physically see the finish line, and even with 400 meters to go, the risk of burning out was on my mind. Regardless, by the end of a race, all you can do is keep moving. It's hard to gauge how fast you are even going by the end. The training takes over, and all you can do is go along with the journey.
In the end, I reached my goal of finishing under two hours. My official time was one hour and fifty-five minutes, or about eight minutes and forty-eight seconds per mile. It was a great experience...and I think I would do it again. My husband far exceeded his goal and finished in one hour and thirty-seven minutes.
The best thing about finishing a race is eating afterwards when the food tastes extra good. We stopped by our local Shake Shack on our return for a little taste of home. The rest of this Sunday will be filled with lots of water, some Netflix, and if you know me, just a little bit of ice cream.
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