The Brookings Marathon

This was not my day.  It was not my race.  But it was a nice day.  And it was a nice race.  Just not my race. 

 

I have lots of excuses.  Sick.  Tired.  Windy.  Blah blah blah.

 

The race was small.  The day was nice.  Except for the wind.  The wind was vicious.  Horrifying. 

I started the race at goal pace.  I needed to hold 8:11 minutes per mile to get to my BQ time of 3:35.  I felt good!  My lungs were a little sketchy, and I had an ugly cough every now and again.  But I thought maybe that made me look tough and scary and maybe intimidated the other runners.  Probably it just grossed them out. 

 

At mile 13 I was holding strong at 8:12.  I felt good, but tired.  I tried to keep a positive mental state, and was doing a pretty good job... until the wind.

The wind picked up a couple of hours into the race and I couldn't believe it.  It was the craziest thing I've ever run in.  The race twisted and turned a lot.  So when I was running with the wind, I was all like "OMG I'm awesome!  I could run this fast all day!"  And then when I'd turn into the wind and be all, "F this.  I want to quit.  I hate today.  Why the hell do I run?"

By mile 16 my time had fallen to 8:18 and I absolutely knew I couldn't hold my pace.  I was miserable.  And I was having a terrible time.  So I made a decision.

I decided that I would rather enjoy myself and the race than push myself and be miserable and not even qualify.  So I completely let my pace go.  I didn't worry about running fast.  I just kept moving.  If I wanted to walk, I walked.  I walked a lot.  Especially into the wind.  That wind was mean.

 

 

I got passed, a lot.  It wasn't a great feeling.  But there wasn't much I could do about it.  I was tired, but I did my best to enjoy myself those last few miles.  I enjoyed the sunshine.  And thanks to all your lovely suggestions I had lots of new songs to rock out to. 

I don't know why I look like I'm yelling at Drew in all of these photos.  I promise I'm not an angry runner.  I should mention that I maybe possibly might have given Drew bronchitis.  Oops!

But he still let me drag him all the way to South Dakota.  And he was there to cheer me on even though he would have rather been in bed.  He's pretty freakin' great.

So, I finished.  My time was somewhere around 4 hours and 7 minutes.  It was the worst I'd had in a few years.  But I'm not mad.  I'm humbled.  I know that I'm not as tough as I'd sometimes like to think.  The marathon is a beast.  I've got tons of excuses for why I didn't do well.  But in the end, I just didn't have what it takes.  It wasn't my day.  I hope next time will be better.