The emails started coming a week before the race. They began with an appropriate degree of formality. “Thank you so very much for joining us this year for the ________ Half Marathon.” The devolution occurred over the next few paragraphs until registrants were formally accosted.
“You must carry hydration.”
“Smile!”
“Thank the volunteers!”
“Carrying hydration is REQUIRED.”
“You MUST maintain a 16 minute per mile pace.”
“KNOW THE COURSE SO YOU DON’T GET LOST.”
“You MUST carry hydration.”
“HAVE FUN!”
These emails came on the daily up until the big day. As Roy and I pulled into the parking lot, (“ARRIVE NO LATER THAN 6:40AM IF YOU WISH TO PARK IN THE CLOSEST PARKING LOT! DON’T EXPECT TO PICK UP YOUR RACE PACKET THE MORNING OF!”) I commented, “I wonder if the person who sent all those cheerful, gracious emails will be here.”
We opened the doors and the bawling of a megaphone met us.
“THE RACE STARTS IN TWELVE MINUTES! IF YOU HAVE ON A BROWN BIB YOU MUST LINE UP NOW! DON’T FORGET YOUR HYDRATION!”
I tried to ignore the steady stream of “gentle directions” as I did some final stretching and applied sun spray. Megaphone continued to bark through the countdown and sent us all off with final blessings.
“GO! GO! GO! STAY HYDRATED! SMILE!”
Apparently when I was a tiny tot one of my first phrases was “allbeeself.” (“All by myself.”) In other words, don’t help me and don’t tell me how to do it. This inner resisting of specific direction has remained a constant, so I did not smile. (I did carry hydration…)
Mile 1: Starting off easy and so happy to stretch my legs after the last week of tapering. The pack slowly thins out and we happily breathe in the lake breeze…which smells like rotting fish.
Mile 2: There are a number of skirt-wearing, conservative teenage girls running this half marathon. I can’t imagine wearing a midi-skirt and running 13 miles, but more power to ya. One of them is racing at our general pace. I mentally nickname her “Duggar” and determine to keep her in my sights the entirety of the race.
Mile 3: We head out of the park and onto the two loop stretch of farmland. A young dad stands at the exit with his two little boys. They are holding an enormous sign that declares, “RUN FAST AND DON’T POOP YOUR PANTS.”
I wish THAT had been in the emails.
Mile 4: I grab a cup of water at a station, only to backtrack to throw out the cup in the trash can because it’s so close to the table. “DON’T LITTER!” I remember. The water-bearers look at me like I’m crazy. “Just drop it whenever you’re done. We’ll pick it all up.”
Mile 5: We split a Quest cookies and cream power bar. It’s sticky and thick and the extra exertion to chew and swallow makes my heartrate spike, temporarily. Then the calories kick in and we settle back into our groove.
Mile 6: Duggar has cheering fans throughout the course. Old men periodically run with her for brief stretches and ask her how she’s doing. We pass lots of farms with signs like “Bill-ieve in Jesus!” and “Are you thirsty yet? We’ve got living water!” (I guess we didn’t need to carry hydration at all.) I try to not think the worst about the old men chatting up the cute teenager.
Mile 7: We start the second loop and Duggar’s sister joins her from the side of the road. She’s not wearing a bib, so she’s just…accompanying for a while. They run the entire second loop together. A bicyclist comes up towards us and I hear her before I see her and the megaphone. “SMILE! THIS IS A PRIVILEGE! HAVE FUN!”
Mile 8: We pass another water stop and I notice Roy has hardly consumed any “hydration” from the bottle he’s carrying. I ask if he wants water. He declines. I grab an extra cup and baptize him. “If you’re not gonna drink it, you’re at least gonna wear it!” He looks at me, shocked, and then we both burst out laughing.
Mile 9: A flurry of texts come in (a lot of the rural course is out of phone range). Well-wishes from friends and a notice from T-Mobile: “Welcome to Canada!” How far have we run again? We pass some volunteers. I’ve started calling to all of them, “WE’RE THANKING THE VOLUNTEERS!” as we run by.
Mile 10: We split a Quest chocolate caramel pecan bar. It’s sticky and thick and tastes exactly like the cookies and cream bar 5 miles ago. Megaphone comes ambling along again on her bike. “KEEP DRINKING WATER! KEEP RUNNING!” I've run 10 miles and I have three to go and she is on a bike. I am sorely tempted to give this woman the finger.
Mile 11: We head back into the park. (“RUN FAST AND DON’T POOP YOUR PANTS!”) We’ve got extra gas in the tank and decide we want to run the last 2 miles fast. Unfortunately, Duggar decided that a few miles prior and has escaped our sightline.
Mile 12: Last mile! The road is pockmarked with holes and uneven patches. It wouldn’t do any good to sprain an ankle at this point. We toss our empty “HYDRATION” in the last trash can and kick it to the finish line.
Mile 13.1: We’re met with water bottles and medals. As soon as I slow down my blood pressure plummets, and the world simultaneously goes bright and dark. I bend over to regain my equilibrium.
The lake still smells terrible.
There is a small crowd at the finish line (a lot of skirts) and the general festivities that accompany the end of a long race. We pick ourselves up and start to head for the car, triumphant, victorious, tired, and satisfied.
Megaphone sticks her weapon of mass destruction in my face and bawls, “DON’T FORGET YOUR BREAKFAST BURRITO!”
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