Remembering the Louisville Half Marathon

ORN: Today was 36° and overcast, so not so cold. 3.85 miles in 40:03. Back to my usual pace, I had a decent run, though I had to do some serious self-coaching to get myself out there. The river was up. I had to slightly alter my route because my usual path that goes right down to the shoreline was flooded. And I am sure I didn't, but I thought I saw two bald eagles fishing over the river. They were two huge, dark raptors with light colored tail feathers and heads. They might have been some sort of hawk, of which we have plenty around here. Does anybody know whether we have bald eagles here in Kentucky? I could Google it, I guess, but I am far too lazy. I'll post today's playlist later.

This week, the chainsaw jugglers over at the Runners' Lounge gave us the assignment of writing about half-marathons. Since I have only run this distance once, I thought the best way I could contribute to this week's project would be to recall my experience with that race -- the Louisville Half Marathon, October 21, 2007. Sorry, this is a long post.

Pre-race

I won't bore you with the details of my race preparation other than to say that I followed a YMCA training plan and took an ill-advised two week break not long before the race. I was more out of shape than I would have liked, needless to say. Instead, I would like to write a few things about the day before.

On Saturday, October 20, I went with my daughter to pick up my race packet at the hotel that served as race headquarters. I found that the process was exceptionally well managed, and my packet was found quickly and was complete in all regards. I looked fondly at my race bib and thought to myself, "This is it. I'm really going to do it." Sometimes it takes holding something in my hand and staring at it for several seconds for the reality of it to grab hold. I'm thick that way.

Later than evening, my wife, my daughter, and I went to the "pasta dinner." I had high hopes for it, given that this was my first marathon experience, yet the dinner was not I had hoped. The food itself was a major disappointment. It was as if they had purchased trays of generic frozen pasta at a Warehouse store and baked them. The garlic bread was seasoned with this odd orange stuff that tasted faintly as though Texaco™ had gotten into the garlic and butter flavoring business. Furthermore, there was no ceremony to the event at all. It was just as if we were eating at the hotel's usual Saturday night buffet, albeit with some unusually fit people attending. Given the exorbitant price of the meal, I felt like we deserved better.

Race day

As is my habit, I arrived early but found that parking was already at a premium. I had to really struggle to find a spot and ended up parking in the grass near the hotel's parking lot, on a sharp incline, which made me nervous for my poor Honda Civic, never the best off-road vehicle. I walked about a half mile to the race start area.

There were tons of people. While this is an event not nearly as large as the Derby Marathon, it was still the largest event I had ever attended. I am unsure of exact numbers, but there were certainly thousands of runners there, as well as hundreds of spectators, and dozens of volunteers. I fidgeted as I waited for the event to start. I got there too early, as is my usual compulsion. Finally, a group of Naval officers -- submariners from the USS Louisville -- gathered around the microphone, one of them sang the National Anthem, another spoke a few words, and then we were off.

Miles 0-2

We shuffled like the heaving mass of humanity we were across the Champion-chip pads south, leaving the Water Tower, and turned east toward Cox's Park. Everything was right with the world. I felt fantastic; I was excited to be where I was, doing what I was doing; and it was a beautiful day. Unfortunately, I had to go to the bathroom. I could not believe it. I dropped a deuce before I left the house, and I thought my troubles were over. But I had swallowed tons of water since then, and all the nervousness and coffee contributed to me feeling like I had an ocean sloshing around in my lower abdomen. Fortunately, I was not alone, and I joined a gaggle of other guys in watering a tree in the park. From what I understand, this is typical marathon behavior.

After shuffling around the parks for a bit, we got back on River Road and headed west. There was a water station between miles two and three, and I grabbed a water. I drank water or sports drink at alternating stations, one then the other, and the stations were 2 miles apart. That was my hydration plan, and it worked great.

Miles 2-5

This stretch of the run was the most idyllic and pleasant. This section of River Road is flat as it follows the Ohio. Trees line both sides of the street. It is, in short, one of the most lovely places in Louisville to run on a fall day. I was feeling fantastic at this point of the run. I listened to my music, drank in the wondrous beauty of the day, and watched the miles pass by. As I drew closer to Spaghetti Junction [where I-64, I-71, and I-65 come together in a tangled mess], the scenery changed from natural to urban. I was entering the city.

Miles 5-9

As I passed under the interstates, which I would be under for the next couple miles, I was struck by how different my perception changed. Suddenly, surrounded by all the concrete and steel, I began to grow tired. I felt claustrophobic. I was running through a concrete maze, and I didn't like it much. My legs got heavier. Eventually, the route took us away from the interstates and toward the waterfront, where at least one could look at the river. We had a couple miles of the Riverwalk [where I've been running lately] and the going was a little better until we drew closer to Portland.

Within a mile or two of the turnaround point for the half marathon, the course followed an old railroad track. On the one side was the river, and on the other was a blighted brown-field consisting of old factory and a large vacant lot. Beyond that was the huge concrete flood wall. It wasn't pretty. But there were high school bands along the way drumming out mad beats, so that was nice. I reached the turnaround point and began thinking seriously about taking a walking break. My legs were very tired and heavy. I was afraid, though, if I walked that I would never resume running. That's how tired I was. But once I started running again, I was fine. I would just need to walk for a bit every mile or so.

Miles 9-12

This section of the race was where my condition -- mental and physical -- grew steadily worse. Running away from the city, my whole body began to ache. Each footfall took a huge effort. What's worse, my attitude suffered. I began to doubt myself. My self-talk was incredibly negative. Still, I soldiered on. I found a person that I had been running behind and decided to stick with her. As long as I kept her in view, I would finish. After mile 10, I was walking every five minutes or so. I felt like the race would never end. I hated it. From my feet to my knees, I ached terribly. My lungs felt raw. But then, I saw the white spike piercing the sky -- the Water Tower. The end.

To the finish and beyond

Once mile 12 ticked by, I resolved to finish on my feet or die trying. I was back in the arboreal part of River Road, and my attitude grew slightly better as the scenery improved. I did not speed up, but I felt as though my body was an ounce or two lighter, my legs a fraction stronger. The Water Tower drew closer with each footfall, and my excitement waxed. But before I could finish, I would have to do The Hill.

The Water Tower sits atop a slight rise. A hillock. A mound of earth that may once have been a levee or something. It's not bad, but with 12 miles behind me, it looked like Everest to me. But the crowd was there. Hundreds of people were there cheering. Volunteers were there handing out water. I could see the food tent and the chairs. Ah, to sit! The hill sucked and sucked and sucked, but I crested it, and going back down the other side to the finish line felt great. I was physically spent, very sore, and more tired than I had ever felt. But I was done and very happy about it. A volunteer crouched down and removed my Champion Chip. Another slipped a medal over my head. The clock was ticking past the 2:40 mark, and I did not care about a thing in the world.

After doing a little painful, difficult stretching, I went to the food tent and made myself a gargantuan peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I nearly choked myself on it, but I was ravenous. Then I ate a banana, some nuts, and a couple cookies as I walked around. Then I had a strong desire to go home, so I did. I went home, collapsed into a hot bathtub, and marveled at how awesome I was.

The days that followed were uncomfortable but not inordinately so. I tried to run a little a few days later, but that was a disaster. I ended up taking more time off than I would have liked. I sent my medal off to be engraved, and it came back to me embossed with my time and the date of the race. I was very proud. Still am.

In fact, cheesy as it sounds, I regard this as being one of the transformational events of my life. Once I achieved this -- finishing a half marathon -- I instantly felt more confidence. Almost instantly, I began looking at a full marathon as a possibility. Now, no distance seems like it's too far. It's just a matter of training up, and having the will to do it.

Next up, the Kentucky Derby Mini on April 26th!