Running my first HM race
Congratulate me pls
I’m thrilled to share that I completed my first half marathon race a week ago, at the Ottawa Race Weekend.
That’s right. Today I’m here to toot my own horn.
God, does it feel bizarre to take pride in myself in public.
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Last year, my brother-in-law generously gifted me a 5k registration for the race weekend. Despite having run for a year, it hadn't occurred to me to enter a race until then.
By that point, I was averaging about 20 kilometres weekly, so I didn’t think I needed to specifically train for it. Speed wasn't something I cared about either; I don't even remember my finish time.
I almost got a banana tattoo after that 5k race. I didn’t.
I remember my brother-in-law saying, “Hey, maybe next year you can do the 10k.”
I can do better than that, I thought to myself.
When I signed up for the half-marathon, back in August last year, my only goal was to finish it.
I don’t need to finish fast. I don’t need to finish strong. I don’t need to finish pretty.
I just need to finish.
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To make sure I did, I loosely followed Hal Higdon’s Novice 1 training guide over the winter months.
Most weeks I ran three times a week, and most of the time, I ran on the treadmill in my basement, listening to a podcast or audiobook.
I had to slow down during the snowboarding season, but I was semi-consistent—consistent enough—with my training.
I’m not the kind of person to take on a goal that I don’t feel ready for. This is because I’m not a courageous person. This is a character flaw of mine that I’m still trying to overcome.
Because of my obsession with feeling absolutely ready, I did a practice half marathon in March.
You know, to prove to myself that I can do this, before the real thing… even though by then I’d already done so. (I completed two half-marathon distance runs in the fall, for fun.)
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As spring—and race day—approached, the two people who I thought was going to be running it with me dropped out for different reasons.
I felt mildly disappointed. But also relieved.
Disappointed because of friendship. Because doing a thing with friends is nice. Because sharing is caring?
Relieved because direct competition doesn’t really work on me. I think comparing myself to others make me freeze up and/or get distracted, when I need to be focusing on myself. Listen to my rant about my experience learning snowboard for more on that.
Doing the race myself, at least in my mind, made it feel simpler.
And I like simple.
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By the time I got to the starting line last Sunday, I had accumulated a questionable ankle and a full week of very subpar sleep.
A week before the race, I’d taken one awkward step on the pickleball court. I suck at pickleball, but that’s irrelevant—just thought you should know. I tried my best not to catastrophize and took my taper week extra easy, hoping one week was enough time for it to heal enough.
Then, three nights before the race, I drove five hours out of town for some friends’ wedding reception. My partner and I literally got home less than 12 hours before my race.
Yet, there I was. As I stretched my hamstrings and rotated my ankles among the other runners in my corral, the speakers blasted fun facts to distract me from the chaos:
Tamarack Ottawa Race Weekend is the biggest multi-day race event in Canada.
Nearly 40,000 people come from out of town to take part in this race event.
12,000 people were set to run the half marathon alongside me.
I was going to try an XACT fruit bar during my race.
2 hours and 12 minutes later, I crossed the finish line.
Running a half marathon as a race is so different versus when it isn’t a race. Maybe this is unique to my experience, but time seemed to zoom by; it hardly felt like I’d been at it for 2 hours. And yet it was one of the most mentally challenging things I’ve ever done.
With every stride, the weight of exhaustion pressed heavier.
During the final 8 kilometres, I kept a continuous motivational monologue in my head. I had to.
Don’t stop.
I had to stop.
Keep going.
I did.
You can do this.
I did.
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I spent the post-race week fully resting. Aka, sitting in front of my computer.
Multiple mornings, I felt the urge to lace up and go for a run. I honestly think at this point, running is becoming something like Focus Factor for me. Luckily, we had a friend from out of town staying with us this week, whose company made it easier for me to sit the fuck down, because I just needed to tell myself that I gotta prioritize friendship.
Our friend went home Friday afternoon, and I went for a run for the first time since the race Saturday morning.
I’d been looking forward to it all week. I thought I was ready. I felt ready.
I was going to play it by ear, but I thought that meant I was going to run an easy 5k, and then see if I wanna go further.
I had to stop at 3 kilometres.
Even though my ankle was doing alright, I pushed myself to run at a speed that I wasn’t quite ready to sustain across longer distances. But truthfully I’d say 90% of it was a mental blocker.
A part of me yearned to run, while another part just wanted to be a lazy bum for a little while longer. Please sit the fuck down.
The post-race blues is real, the emotional cooldown that I’ve only heard about but never experienced.
Running a race was more than the race itself.
For half a year, it provided me with little bits of structure, purpose, discipline, conversation topic, and more importantly, something to look forward to. And now, it’s behind me.
It feels not unlike how I’d feel after coming back from a trip that I’d been planning and dreaming about for months.
I have to trust that I will get back to it.
I have to trust that my body and mind will be ready again.
I have to trust that if I’ve proven it to myself a week ago, I can do it again.
As I sat my lazy bum at my computer today, writing this, I felt a spark of determination and I had to act on it while I held that spark:
I’m going for a marathon next year. I just registered. Anyone else?