Two Half Marathons, One Whole Lesson

Runners love to talk about running.  Most others don’t.  Even other runners often get sick of listening to runners talking about running.  

So be warned, I’m a runner and I’m going to talk about it.  But if you stay with me, you’ll see that I’m really talking about being human. (If you just can’t take the running details, skip ahead to the last paragraph).

I like to run a half marathon every November. This year, for a variety of reasons both legitimate and lazy, I didn’t start really training for it until early September. That gave me about 8 weeks to get ready.  For some people, that’s just fine, but I usually need more time than that.

To overcome this, I tried to be as disciplined as I could be.  I ran smarter, lifted weights harder and slept more consistently. I was moderately successful in trying to eat better (it’s not that I eat poorly, but my sweet tooth gets the best of me too much).

Anyway- things were going well.  I was getting stronger and feeling good during runs.  Most importantly, about a month before the race, I hit my stride mentally.  I believed I would run well.  I saw it happening.  I was confident.  My goal was attainable and modest (do better than last year).  I was strong and ready.  It was going to happen.

Right around the time I got serious about race prep, my daughter Ally asked if I wanted to run a half marathon with her.  Of course I did! But the race she was looking at was just one week after the race I was training for.

I debated whether or not I had the juice to do half marathons on back-to-back weekends. But as Ally pointed out, I did more than that the previous year when I was working toward running a full marathon (unfortunately I didn’t make that race due to injury). 

So I decided to do the back-to-back races.  I figured I would take it easy in the second race, and just go for a casual jog with Ally.  The course was described as flat, “scenic” and nice for what I call “a sightseeing run.”

When the weekend of the first run arrived, I was ready! I knew the course because I had run it last year; an out-and-back on the Ghost Town Trail, an old rail path along the river near Indiana PA; slightly uphill for the first 6.5 miles, then slightly downhill all the way home.  The weather that morning was perfect- partly sunny, temps in the low 50’s. This was going to be good!

But when the starter canon fired (yep-they use a real canon at this race), I made my first mistake. Instead of taking the planned walking breaks I had trained with, I kept running. The uphill slant didn’t bother me. I passed mile markers 3,4,5 and 6 feeling pretty good.

But when I rounded the orange traffic cone at the turn-around point and finally took a walk break, I realized that my adrenaline had gotten the best of me.  I was more tired than I should have been.  Too tired!! 

On the up side, I felt like I was making pretty decent time (my GPS watch had died a few weeks ago, so I wasn’t sure).  Plus- the back half of the course was slightly downhill- all good!

I pushed ahead knowing my pace had slowed, stopping to drink and walk a bit at each of the aid stations I had skipped on the way out.

If mile marker 10 had been equipped with a mind reading machine, my scan would have said this: 1) that was the best 10 mile run I’ve done in a long time 2) my feet hurt 3) my left ankle hurts 4) my right quad hurts 5) I’m running out of gas quickly.

Despite that first thought, all the confidence I had at the starting line was gone; replaced with the soreness, poor ankle mobility, faulty technique, fatigue and doubt. I’m usually good for about 9 miles before this stuff kicks in. I made ten, but didn’t know if I had thirteen.

By mile 12, I was spent.  Despite trying to focus on technique, my leg and ankle were toast.  Cardio-wise I was fine, but what good is an engine without wheels? 

Several people I had passed a few miles ago had since slogged slowly past me and out of sight.  

The last mile was the worst.  Instead of just powering through, I took several long walking breaks, knowing that whatever time I was clocking was quickly losing respectability. I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t make myself suck it up and drag my tired ass toward the finish without walking.  Physically, I’m sure I could have done it, but mentally I was done.

As I approached the stone bridge that signified the beginning of the final quarter mile, anger and disappointment fueled me enough to “sprint” through the finish, overtaking a fellow runner just as the finish line announcer called our names. 

As the race volunteer handed me a medal and a bottle of water, I briefly considered whether I was going to pass out or not.  I wasn’t, I was just pissed off and disappointed.  My gaze had fallen on the race clock, and the time was 10 minutes slower than what I wanted to see.

It was my own fault. I had run too hard in the first half of the race, skipped the periodic breaks I had planned on, didn’t perform the way I had trained, ran out of gas 3 miles too early, and couldn’t find the mental or physical toughness to finish the last 2 miles respectably.

The positive?  I had a strong, uphill 6.5 miles.  I ran much longer and harder with no break than I had in training. I started race prep later than ever and still completed the half marathon.  

But all things considered, the race felt like a disappointment. Like a football team that outscores their opponent 14-0 in the first half, but gets outscored 28-7 in the second half, the net result is a loss.

And I was running another one next week?!

I spent the next few days trying to recapture a positive mindset.  It wasn’t easy. But after a really strong, hilly 6 miler on Thursday, I was starting to believe that I could make a good showing on half marathon number two. My goal was simple and attainable- just finish faster than last week (which was my second slowest effort ever).

This time I would be running with Ally, even though her game plan had changed from “sightseeing run” to “go hard”. The course was an easy one: basically flat; a straight shot down the road from Tilghman Island, Maryland to the nearby town of Saint Michaels.

When Saturday arrived I was in decent physical shape and a cautiously optimistic state of mind. The weather was a very nice, sunny, 63 degrees.  Ally was committed to strict intervals of 5 minutes running/1 minute walking, and I was looking forward to running a more structured race than I had last week.

I didn’t know if I would be able to stay with Ally the whole race, but I thought the interval method gave me a shot.

The starting gun was delayed about fifteen minutes due to a medical situation, but once we got going, it turns out that half marathon number two in Saint Michael, MD was very much like half marathon number one in western Pennsylvania.  For about 7 miles I ran almost stride for stride with Ally and surprisingly fast!  The walking intervals were helpful and we were anticipating a finishing time about 17 minutes faster than last week’s run.

But just like before, I started to wear down between miles 7 and 9.  Ally, who does a much better job of in-race nutrition and hydration than I do, pulled away slowly until I was on my own. Fortunately, my usual ankle and leg issues stayed mostly in check as I hung in there pretty well until the Mile 12 marker.

But then?

Mile 12 was terrible.  I was spent.  People I had passed miles back returned the favor. I couldn’t respond.  My legs had no juice.  My mind had no fight. 

Mile 13 was even worse as I replayed last week’s final mile by walking at least half of it.  I could feel time slipping through my fingers again.  Just like last week, I couldn’t find the grit to run much during that last mile. Thankfully Ally, who had finished about 6 minutes earlier, came back along the course to run with me, and cheer me on through the home stretch.  

I had lost an embarrassing amount of time over those last two miles, but I did meet my modest goal.  I finished three minutes faster than last week.

Overall, half marathon two was an exaggeration of number one. On the downside I started out even faster (yet smarter) than in race #1, which led predictably to an even harder crash.  I watched other runners manage gels, gummies and drink stations with wisdom I don’t have, as they ran past me for good.  For the second week in a row my lower body energy tank went to empty, while my mind couldn’t keep me out of the “quit zone” during the last mile.  

The positive?  I did 6.5 miles faster and stronger than race #1, and that includes walking 1 minute out of every six!  I ran the first 10 miles stronger than the previous week.  I got a live action tutorial on how to better handle in-race nutrition.  When I was keeping pace with Ally, she gave me a good analysis of my running technique and a plan for how to improve my critical weakness, ankle mobility. In the end, I was able to hold it together enough to be faster than the previous week (even though both times are slower than I think they should be). And, I ran 2 half marathons in the same week despite a shorter than normal training period.

All things considered, this past week was a good illustration of what it’s like to be human. It was a reminder that no matter what we’re trying to do, we are always strong, weak, prepared, not ready, wise, ignorant, smart, foolish, heroic, gutless, successful, incompetent, important and insignificant all at once.  No matter the topic, if we widen our view enough, we will find this to be true. Applying this outlook to everything we do may or may not bring us the success we’re looking for, but it should put us at peace with the results.

Is that good or bad?

It’s both. It’s neither.  It’s human.

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