It’s sunny and warm in Dayton, Ohio, this morning. A few lazy groups of clouds play poker and tell jokes in the sky. I’m cold in my hotel suite, but that’s because I’m literally a slab of skin and bones. I’m alright, though. Cool indoor temps aren’t enough to slay the beast today.
It’s the morning after my first half marathon in four-and-a-half years. The day after running with a friend who’s been working their entire life to finish any race, let alone a half marathon. It was the culmination of three hard-fought years, two race cancellations due to COVID, and a personal friend passing. To say this race was monumental is a gross understatement.
This race might as well have been my first. It felt like it. From the wake up calls to the stretching and relaxation, it was like waking into a dream. Races are always a surreal experience, not just from the standpoint of the heightened energy, but because of the sheer magnitude of everything involved. There’s nutrition and sleep and hydration to think about, but also logistics.
Parking for the race is always a joke when it comes to the Air Force races. They put you in the middle of a giant field surrounding the National Air Force Museum, with only three access points for cars to get through. It took an hour once we got in line to get through our checkpoint. We even got up at 4:00am to make sure we were parked an hour and a half before the race start at 7:30am.
No dice.
But, we did make it and we were at the start by 7:10am; a little too close for comfort for me, but enough time to get situated and shake the body loose. I went through my old stretching rituals one-by-one, amazed at how naturally it all comes back, while thousands of other people zipped this way and that. It was amazing to feel the energy of a big race again. People laughing and high-fiving and recounting the months of training leading up to the race: it reminded me how much I love competing at a high level, something I’ve missed for years.
The race started out exactly how I was afraid of: uphill. After my average training run featured average elevation gains of about 45ft., you can imaging how I felt sizing up the first hill, which was 50ft. in itself. Oy. I made it up the hill and through the first mile in a 6:34, which is right about where I wanted to be at the beginning. The next mile was a sizzling 6:05, due a massive series of downhills (what goes up…). Everything between then and Mile 9 was relatively flat, with the exception of the highway on and off ramps. I made it though those, too.
By the time I got to through those initial hills, my legs were awake and ready for flight. Only one mile from Mile 4 on was over 6:20. My fastest was my second to last, the product of a huge, three-quarter-mile downhill (5:50), with my last a nod to my old speeds (5:59). It gave me hope for what lies next, knowing I have a 5k coming up in a week and a potential 10k this November.
God, it’s good to talk race schedule again.
As I mentioned earlier, racing is something I’ve missed for years. The main reasons I haven’t raced is because of shame and self-doubt and lack of funding. After struggling with my bipolar the last four years and making too little to race, I have a new job and a new lease on what appears to be a second chance at life.
I finished the race in a time of 1:22:34, good for 19th overall and a 2nd place finish in my age group. It’s weird to think I’m ten years older than where I started, especially when all those memories of races gone feel like they happened just yesterday. I ran into the finish with my arms spread out like airplane wings and soared through the chute to raucous cheering. The announcer even announced that I was “approved for landing.”
But, the morning after is always the hardest part. You wake up after training for months on end, sweating and straining until all you can do is eat and go to bed, and suddenly this thing you’ve been striving for is over. You go back about your daily life. A lot of time it almost seems like it never happened. The only proof you have it ever did are photos, swag, and memories. Testimonials of courage and persistence.
Things I’d thought I’d lost a long time ago and then found flying through Fairborn at nine-and-a-half-miles-per-hour.
Life’s funny.
Learn to laugh.
Renegade Runner 