Towpath Half

“And then you’ll make your way uphill to the finish.”

Danni and I looked at each other.  Those are not the words you want to hear in the description
of a race course. But we were there on the starting line, poised for the starting signal. I shrugged and smiled at Danni.

“Confidence,” I thought.“You are ready for this.”

It was just a 13 mile run; practice for the full marathon Cleveland just over a month away.

“You know you can do this,” I thought.

I’m in the third round of marathon training, and it’s gone better than ever.  Previously, I have struggled and rarely managed to hit goal paces during training, but somehow the marathons themselves have still been successful. This time every workout and long run has been like clockwork, right at or even faster than planned.  The flawlessness in my training has been making me anxious-- a sign that perhaps the third time is a charm and I’m on track for a personal best.  Time will tell.  Today’s Towpath Half Marathon would be a good indicator of what shape I’m in.

“This is just for fun,” I remind myself. “A chance to exhibit all the work you’ve been putting in.”

And we were off. The first mile was downhill, a tease for the several inclines to come. Danni and I insisted that if there was one thing we would do today, it was to go out conservatively, in order to avoid burn out in the second half of the races.  Among the women, we only had each other for pacers.  We stood boldly on the starting line among the men while all others had lined up well behind the front pack.  We strode out side by side at a comfortable pace, a line of men stretching out before us.   Relaxed, I let then downhill momentum pull me along.  

The bright yellow sign marking the first mile appeared.  I glanced at my watching dreading a much
too fast time.  I should have learned by now after our many workouts that she is much better at keeping an even, moderate pace, but I decided to have faith in the strength I felt, and I had pulled away from Danni shortly after we began.  6:15. It was a little quick, but only about 15 seconds faster than I hoped to average for each mile.

“Slow a bit and you’ll be just fine,” I thought.

I fell into stride next to a muscular man a foot taller than me.  I smiled at the thought of how we must look side by side.  A second man came from behind and joined us. I ran comfortably between them, hoping the rhythm of a shared stride would carry me along.  But both of them already began to fade after an apparently optimistic first mile and I moved ahead.

I reached an aid station and reached out for a cup of Gatorade.  “Early and often” was my rule, as
my coach had instructed as I prepared for my first marathon.  It was an unexpectedly warm day, reaching the 60’s, so it would be especially important to keep hydrated and not wait until I already felt thirsty or fatigued.

Fueling had been an important and I had stuffed three Shot Blocks into my sports bra for a bit of
extra fuel every three miles.  The break up also helped me mentally to just focus on the next three miles of the race, rather than how many were left until the finish.  

An arched bridge loomed ahead.  So this is one of the two bridges the race director had mentioned. He hadn’t mentioned that they were hills, and that the course looped both out and back over them.  

“Don’t worry, just keep an even pace, cruise on the downhills, and they shouldn’t drain you too much,”
I encouraged myself.

I remained primarily alone, catching another runner, sharing a few strides, a mutter of “good job!”and moving ahead.  The wind was blowing strongly in opposition, and I attempted to use a larger runner in front of me as a wind breaker.  I could feel a slight relief, but could also sense his irritation with having me on his heels.  I gave up the effort, knowing in a few miles I’d be headed back in the opposite direction with the wind in my favor.

The three mile marker came into view and I pulled out the first Shot Block, doing my best to undo the
Seran wrap I had wrapped each individual block in, without slowing.  I choked it down and glanced at my watch.  Just over 19 minutes, right on pace. On to the next three miles.

A mile later I reached the turnaround point.  I love when race courses double back.  It gives
me the chance to interact with other racers.  When I run up front, there is little company.  It’s easy to forget about the hundreds of other runners who are working so hard.  But as I pass back in the opposite direction, I’m reminded that I am not alone, and we exchange cheers of encouragement with one another.  Many of them clap and call out gleefully at the sight of the first woman runner.

“Get it girl!”

I’m motivated by their support, hoping that maybe I can be a bit of inspiration to help them keep
going.  And seeing their effort keeps me going—sure, the race is hard for all of us, but they still have further to go on the course than I do.

Even more importantly today, I looked for my friends. I happily called out to Danni, still just a short way behind, and I hoped that she might join me when she’s confident to pick up the pace in a few more miles.  I looked for Meg and Amanda among the ladies that followed.  I have been coaching them every Thursday night
for the past couple of months for this race and for the upcoming Cleveland Marathon.  I know that they are in excellent shape, and hoped that the hard workouts they have done would pay off today.  They cheered excitedly
as we passed each other.

“Go Joanna!”

“Great job, keep it up!” I yelled back.

They looked strong side by side, and in good cheer.

There were more cries of “You go girl!” and “First woman!” as runners continue to stream by in the
opposite direction.  With the wind now at my back, I am encouraged to push ahead. I envisioned the two arched bridges that lie immediately ahead and reminded myself to keep my pace in
check.

“Be cautious through the first half, you don’t want to burn out.”

The number of runners around me had dwindled and I kept my focus on the next aid station. Volunteers lined either side of the course holding out paper cups.

“Gatorade? Water?” they offered.

“Gatorade! Please!” I gave a nod of thanks as I reached for the cup.

Fold. Pour. I tried to get down a single gulp without splashing the liquid down my front, then dropped
the cup to the group. The miles ticked by. I felt the fatigue but had a sense of strength and security that I could
get through the race.

“I’ve done this before. I’ve worked hard for this. I have no excuses.” I repeated to myself.

Mile six.  I popped a Shot Block into my mouth and did my best to chew through my labored
breathing. I glanced at my watch.  I was just under my goal pace. Perfect. No need to strain, keep it even.  If I had it in me, the time to race would be at 10 miles, with 5km remaining.  Until then, I just had to relax.

From time to time I would catch up to another runner, we would fall into stride for a few steps, and I would continue ahead.  I reached a man barely taller than I, with cropped black hair, who was breathing with obvious effort.  Together we passed another runner, and the man grunted words of encouragement to them. As I began to edge ahead of him, his breathing became even more audible, as if to prove his masculine strength and power he was pouring into his race. We caught some of the walkers and joggers that had been given a headstart, and the man grunted again with such effort that his words were lost.

“This is ridiculous,” I thought. “I can’t run with him heaving and barking.”

I let him run ahead a bit, and as I suspected, his labored breathing ceased as soon as I was no
longer threatening his ego. But I was not willing to hang back.  I ran up beside him and the breathing started again.

“I guess I’ll just have to drop him,” I thought.

I pushed the pace just slightly.  I still had a couple of miles to go before I was ready to run
all out. Gradually, I pulled away, and was able to refocus on my own rhythm.

The course doubled back again in a loop before the last mile stretch to the finish, and I looked for
Danni.  She was less than a half mile behind, with no other women in sight!

“We’ll be one and two!”I thought.

I had taken my last Shot Block at nine miles.  I grabbed one last gulp of Gatorade at the 10 mile
aid station.  Now it was time to race.

“Just three miles, what’s the worst thing that can happen?” I thought.

I imagined myself back home on my long run route, running eastward on the bike path, gradually picking up the pace as I count down the last few miles to home. My quads protested, aching from the miles of pounding.  The words of the announcer on the starting line echoed in my head, “…make your way uphill to the finish.”

“I will not slow on the hill,” I told myself. “You can collapse at the finish if you need to.  Now
is the time to give your all.”

The last thing I was is to finish the run feeling like I have more to spare. Someone yelled,

“Six spots!”

Ya right.  Sure, I planned on competing to be the first woman finisher, but I had no intention of
attempting to beat all the men.

12 miles.  Just 1 more to go.  It seemed never ending.  The path was windy and I hoped
at every turn to see the finish line looming ahead.  At last, after a long incline as promised, I rounded the corner into the finishing stretch.

1:23: 26. I did it! Strong half marathons are rare for me.  I have run half marathons as
practice before both marathons I have run, and both times I ran a faster first half of my marathon than I had run in the half marathon race.  This time though, I was just under my goal for the first half of the Cleveland, 1:25.

I accepted a finisher’s medal and a cup of water.  The grunting man finished shortly behind me.
We shook hands and congratulated each other.

“I tried to hang on…” he shook his head with a smile.

“Good job!” I tell him.

I watched for Danni to come into the finishing chute, the second woman in, with no competition in
sight!

“That was rough!”

“You did great!” I congratulated her, “Your first half marathon!”

After a bit more water, we doubled back onto the course for a cool down, interspersing our race
reflections with cheering for the other runners as they approached the finish. I watched anxiously for Meg and Amanda.  I spotted Amanda, maintaining a strong, even pace.

“Almost there!” I encouraged her.

Meg trailed a bit behind, having experienced stomach problems that all runners dread on race day.

“Just a few more minutes and you’ll be there!”

After our cool down, Danni and I joined Meg and Amanda at the finish and we boarded the shuttle back
to the start, where we had parked. It’s been over a year since I’ve raced as part of a team.  I’ve grown accustomed to going to races on my own. As we drove home, we swapped race reflections and then the conversation strayed to other subjects.  Yes, this race was important.  Yes, I was very happy with my success.  But running has become much bigger for me. Running side by side or miles apart in a race, running has created a community, full of positive energy and support. I have worked with these women to help them work towards their goals.  Danni and I have trained side by side to push each other harder and further than we’ve run before.

My finish gave me confidence that I can attain my marathon goal in May.  But when I imagine my
race May, the thought that encourages me the most is the number of people who have inspired, encouraged, and supported me along the way.  I run to express my gratefulness, and in hopes that a few others might be inspired to do the same.