What I learned from running 13.1 miles

Last Spring when I decided that I was going to do a half marathon I had a plan. I planned to run several days a week, I planned to do HIIT workouts a couple days a week and have a nice day of rest each week. I had told my parents that I was going to do it and my mom was so proud of me. The morning she went into her surgery she was bragging to my aunts that her daughter was going to do a half marathon!

 

And then my mom died and I actually spent most of my Summer sitting on the couch rather than training. I didn't eat the greatest. I did very few HIIT workouts and I ran about 2-3 times per month. Since doing Bloomsday in May (which is 7.46 miles) my furthest run was 2.7 miles.

 

I went from having a goal of doing it in 2 hours, to having a goal of crossing the finish line before they closed the course! I even thought about not doing it at all. I kept thinking about how many people would finish in front of me, about the people that would do better.

 

                   

 

But then something changed inside of me. I reminded myself why I wanted to do this: Because it scared me and I wanted the challenge. I reminded myself about how proud my mom was that I was doing this. About how she would have been waiting for me at the finish line to cheer me on. I reminded myself that it doesn't matter if I am the last person to cross the finish line but that I finish. That I take on this challenge and see it to the end. That I am my biggest competition.

 

The first few miles were actually okay. I did have a couple of "what was I thinking?" moments along the way and I walked more than I planned. But I ran, I jogged, I walked my way through 13.1 miles.

As I was somewhere between the 11-12 mile mark I was hurting. I was walking so slow that I think I saw a turtle pass me. I couldn't wait to get to the finish line and see my husband, who had already finished. I couldn't wait to get water and eat something {anything}. I couldn't wait to sit down. And I couldn't help but think, "I'll never do this again". 

But somehow I mustered up the courage to start running again, which was actually easier than the terribly slow walking I was doing previously. I ran that last 1.1 mile to get across that finish line, to get my medal, see my husband and drink a glass of water!

We sat down in the grass to talk about our accomplishment and I snapped a quick picture of us with our medals. Feeling so proud. I'm so glad I did it. And while I didn't let myself think about it for 48 hours, I'm looking forward to next year!