Reflections on my first half-marathon

Taken during my race by Mark Motz. Thanks, Mark!

Around this time last year, my commitment to running was at an all-time low. In the fall of 2015, my first time training entirely alone as a serious runner, I worked harder than I probably ever had before, only to injure myself two weeks before the 2015 Cincinnati Thanksgiving Day Race and embarrass myself when I did the race itself. Over the next few months, running ceased to be a priority in my life. I even spent an entire month not running for no other reason than that I didn't feel like it. This was untenable, but I still went through most of winter and spring of 2016 running only listlessly, without any real direction. Indeed, the only notable running-related accomplishment I had during that period was using a 9-mile run to enable myself to complete a professional eating challenge (which you can read about here).

At some point during the summer, though, the running impulse returned to me. I decided to train again for the Thanksgiving Day Race in an attempt to redeem my failure from last year. And though it wasn't always easy, and though I faced one major setback in the form of a freak pre-race accident that made even walking difficult for a few days before the race, I ended up placing 2nd at the 2016 Thanksgiving Day Race. And that race was only the culmination of a training period that saw me come within 10 seconds of my college 10k PR, and come within 3 seconds of breaking 15 in the 5k. Jack was back.

En route to almost being as good as I was in college in the 10k. 

And since Jack was back, and since I had satisfactorily proven my ability to train myself to more or less my best potential in the races I knew, I decided it was time to try some longer distances. But before I jumped into a marathon, I wanted to do a half-marathon first. I had my heart set on D.C.'s Rock 'n' Roll Half, but the training turnover between the end of my fall training's break and the date of that race proved too quick, and it exhausted me physically and mentally too much for me to have entered that early March race. So I elected to go return home for my half-marathon debut and run the Cincinnati Flying Pig on May 7, 2017.

Having never trained for a half-marathon before, I reached out to runner friends, including past coaches, for advice. They are all wise and experienced, and know much more than I, and gave me good advice. One prior Flying Pig champion advised me to do hill workouts, for example, since the Pig was a very hilly course. (This was good advice.) Despite that, I chose largely to forge my own path for half-marathon training, focusing on marathon pace runs, fartleks, long interval workouts at half-marathon goal pace (which I determined early on was ~1:10, so 5:20/mile), and long runs (with tempos within), run in 80-90 mile weeks. I carried on in this fashion for February, March, and early April, feeling very capable, and delighted finally to be training for a race where endurance and strength mattered far more than speed and a kick. As a runner, I've always had the former qualities in abundance, but suffered from a deficit of the latter two. I was pretty sure the half-marathon would be a good race for me.

My training was going well, and probably peaked in difficulty during early April, when I finished my first 90-mile week in some time. That week contained one bad workout, but one 10-mile tempo run at 5:27 pace, and it felt great, an encouraging sign. Unfortunately, at the beginning of the next week, my body straight-up shut down. I spent about a week trying my best just to run at all, but even that was difficult. The last four weeks of my training were largely dedicated to returning to the shape I was sure I had been in while making sure not to work so hard that I exhausted myself and also tapering. It was a tricky thing to pull off, and it didn't help that I got a short sickness a few days before my race that forced me to take a day off and made me generally more uncertain about how I felt and what kind of shape I was in.

Because of this training uncertainty, and because the half-marathon was more than twice as long as anything I'd ever raced before, I went to the line early Sunday morning far more nervous than I had been for a race in quite some time. I hadn't run a new distance since spring 2012, when I raced my first 10k. I wasn't sure how much of my fitness I had kept/restored from my down period and my sickness. And I wasn't even sure if, before that point, I had even been training for a half-marathon correctly, since I chose to ignore the advice most people gave me. Despite all of this, however, I still had several goals I was confident I could achieve, in order of feasibility:
-Get in the top 5
-Run 1:10-1:12
-Win (unlikely, since Cincinnati standout Tommy Kauffman was present)

I thought of all of this in the moments before the race began. Then the gun went off, the starting line erupted in (deliberate, planned) flames, and I began the race, sporting the St.X singlet my high school coach had given me (and shouted at me mid-race not to waste), which I always try to wear when I return to Cincinnati to race. I started out the first 6 miles of the race very conservatively, trying my best to stick in the 5:20s. This was good enough to put me in the top 5 out the gate, and I was content to remain there for the time being.

Beginning the hardest portion of the race. 

When the sixth mile began, I decided I felt good enough to make a move on 4th place; I passed him right around the 10k mark, and ventured into unknown territory for my racing history. This was also around the time that the race began its primary uphill portion, which would last for the next 3 or so miles. Here, my parents cheered me on for the first of two times; they were among many spectators who encouraged me, some who knew me, some who lent me support because of my St.X singlet, and some who were there to cheer on all of the racers.

There was a water station near the start of this uphill, and I took a sip of something that turned out to be Gatorade, which I never drink while running and so immediately spat out. I don't know if the sip of Gatorade was why I began to cramp up over the course of the next mile. That uphill mile would have been difficult regardless. But whether it was the Gatorade's fault or not, the next few miles of the race were some of the most painful I have ever experienced. My average pace for the first 6 miles of the race was probably around 5:25; miles 7-10 were 5:58, 6:16, 5:39, and 5:44. For the first two miles, I was in so much pain that I thought the race was basically over for me, that I was barely halfway through but would have to spend the rest of the race dragging my cramp-addled carcass to the finish line in shame. Not even two welcome sights, the cheering of a St.X friend and the bizarre improvisations of an Elvis impersonator, could break me from this funk, during which the fellow I had passed to get into 4th passed me once again.

Fortunately, the story of my first half-marathon does not end here. In fact, this is where it begins. Not long after my sister, who was also around to cheer for me, encouraged me, I reached the top of the race's seemingly infinite uphill. And, miraculously, my cramp went away. The legends of the second wind proved true. Somehow, I had recovered, as I discovered when I began to drop my pace once more. At the end of mile 10, I felt just as good as I had at the beginning of the race, if not better. Amazed at my fortune, I set my sights on 4th place once more, running toward, with, and then past him. Mile 11 began arguably the best kick I have ever managed in my running career. 3rd place was at least a minute ahead of me at this point, but I could still see him, so I set my sights on him as well. For mile 11, my pace dropped down to 5:20.

Starting to feel a lot better. 

As we got back into downtown for mile 12, my pace dropped down to 5:11. At this point, the race did an awkward out-and-back turnaround via some cones. I wish it hadn't, for two reasons: I lost a bit of my momentum, and 3rd place, who had no reason to expect I was anywhere near him, saw that I was somehow closing in. I didn't let this stop me, however. For my last full mile, my desperation to catch him enabled me to run a 5:05.

I got as close as 10 seconds away from him, until my body finally gave out and I basically jogged the last few hundred meters. And then, I was done, 4th place in 1:13:22*, well outside my goal time parameter, but oh well. At least I still get default results page visibility, as you can see here.

A goal, achieved. 

As I confusedly, almost dumbly made my way through the finish chute, I accepted the various things--medals, blankets, congratulations--given to me. I wasn't as interested in the food, though. Even though running usually makes me hungry, something about the task I had just completed made me totally uninterested in eating. I could barely even drink any water. Some people were shocked that I had already finished, but I made sure to tell them that I didn't win. I had only two real priorities upon finishing: finding the shirt I had deposited at the starting line, and returning to my car. I learned from a race official that all shirts left at the starting line are donated, which saddens me, as the shirt I wore to it was from the 2016 Thanksgiving Day Race, at which I got 2nd. There were many post-race celebrations and shenanigans, but I wasn't interested in any of them. So, more sore than I've ever been in my life, I slowly walked toward Sawyer Point, where I left my car. As I did so, I saw Tommy Kauffman, the race winner (and new course record holder), lightly jogging, presumably for his cooldown, and wondered how he could feel so good; I was so sore I didn't even feel like cooling down. I spent the rest of the day moving as little and eating as much as possible, and thinking about my race. It took about three days of no running for my legs to feel normal again, but now, after six days of no running, runners' restless leg syndrome pains have replaced those feelings of soreness.

Thus went my first half-marathon. I am content with it. Yes, I was a bit off from my time goals, and I certainly didn't win. And yes, my training, though it went well for a while, became frustratingly erratic in the last four weeks leading up to the race, an adverse reaction to and consequence of overtraining. I would have been happier if my debut half-marathon were a little faster. And I would have been happier if miles 7-10 weren't as unpleasant as they were. I have much to learn about the half-marathon, and much to change about my training (I'm certainly going to do hill repeats if I run this very hilly race again). But there are plenty of good things about this race as well. Miles 1-6 were calm, conservative, and consistent, exactly as I wanted them to be. And miles 11-13 were some of the most impressive I've ever run; to be honest, I'm still not sure how I was able to close so fast after recovering from several miles as painful and difficult as they were.** It would have been nice to get 3rd, but the fact that I came as close as I did from as far away as I was is encouraging. For my first half-marathon, it was not bad. It was also a fun race and a great experience.

And I looked good doing it. 

But the main takeaway about this race, for me and for everyone who know me (especially those who may compete against me), is that this won't be my last half-marathon. Indeed, it was only my first. And now that I have the experience under my belt, I expect only to get better and better at this race. For I have now proven, to myself and to anyone who may have doubted me, that graduating from college was not the end of my competitive running career.

It was only the beginning.

Honestly, how could I stop, with this face?

PS

*According to my Garmin, I actually ran 13.28 miles, and ran 13.1 miles in 1:12:24. I don't know if that's accurate, but it's at least worth mentioning.
**Also according to my Garmin, here are my splits:
-5:15
-5:18
-5:28
-5:30
-5:28
-5:27
-5:58
-6:16
-5:39
-5:44
-5:20
-5:11
-5:05