I recently ran my third half marathon, The Rock ‘n Roll half marathon. It’s 13.1 miles, which may or may not seem like a long distance. It takes more than you might think to make it across a finish line. Ask anyone who runs. Sometimes you’re not ready or it’s not meant to be. You have to be dedicated and disciplined. You have to commit. You pick a race and join a group or make out your own plan. You have to commit to the miles. For me, these are early miles, usually around 4:30am on the treadmill at the gym during the week. On the weekend, the long runs are a treat, when I get to run outside. They can also be a challenge, trying to fit them into a busy schedule, when the weather is most favorable. This time around, I thought I’d add an extra challenge by continuing to work my second job on the weekends. It made it harder to fit in on Saturday mornings before a seven or eight-hour shift. But as the year progressed, the days started with earlier sunrises, and that worked itself out. I don’t like to run in the dark.
You have to commit to the pain. For me, there’s always some pain along the way. Mental pain counts but it’s the physical pain that knocks me down. I’ve started training plans that I couldn’t finish because of shin splints or tendonitis or knee or hip problems. Over the years I’ve learned all sorts of stretches and strengthening exercises to prevent the same problems from happening again. Running has taught me lessons I didn’t know I needed. It’s taught me to listen to my body, to push when I’m slightly tired, or rest when I’ve exhausted my reserves. It’s taught me that I’m stronger than I think.
Running is hard. The Rock ‘n Roll half marathon was awesome. It was the largest run I’ve done so far with over 13,000 runners, not counting the marathon runners. There were thirty-three corrals, starting in two minute intervals. The course was crowded from start to finish, runners weaving through the slower masses the entire route. We started under a cloudless sky, the sun warm and persistent as we progressed through the streets of San Diego.
The crowds were amazing. They lined the streets to watch an endless river of runners course through their neighborhoods. They cheered encouraging words, beat drums, chanted, handed out oranges, bananas, candy, water, tequila, and whiskey. They shouted through bull horns or hands cupped to mouths. They waved, took photographs, held signs for loved ones or random strangers. The bands played and spirit teams cheered, waving pom poms and spirit fingers. I got caught up, the excitement energized me and I felt unstoppable. It was amazing. The time flew by. As always, the run kindly offered things to me. Strangers on a Sunday morning, forced to stay home, could be incredibly kind. And, somewhere in mile ten when I started getting hot and had to walk up some of those hills, I knew it was just a few moments of a much longer race. It was allowing myself a temporarily slowed pace to make the strong finish.
In the end, I crossed the finish at 2:16:22. This was a few minutes slower than my pace time, but given everything, it was a good time.
Take the 52 west 