This past summer I had a chip on my shoulder that I just couldn’t seem to shake. Fed up with my bad attitude, my dad called one day and informed me that he signed us up for a half-marathon. That’s 13.1 miles. I hadn’t run ONE mile since I was in high school (5 years ago). But there is no room for argument with my old man, he had already registered us and bought the t-shirt.
I had 16 weeks to prepare for 13.1 miles. A lot of people told me that would be plenty of time. I had a schedule mapped out of how many miles I needed to be averaging a week up until the week before my race. But, if I’m being really honest, absolutely nothing can prepare you for your first half-marathon.
I went through about 10 stages during the half-marathon:
Stage 1: The starting line
Holy crap the energy is unreal at the starting line. You’re packed in like a can of sardines and there is so much adrenaline that you can smell it on the dude next to you.
Stage 2: The first mile
Oh I got this, I can definitely do 13 more of these (psshhh). I’m bobbing and weaving past these slow people! Walking is for old people!
Stage 3: The bathroom stop
Must. Go. NOW.
Stage 4: Must. Have. Water.
I feel bad for the people who have to clean up all these cups but I can’t even think about that now because I NEED WATER!
Stage 5: Spectator signs are giving me life
“This is the dumbest parade ever” and “Run faster, the cops are catching up” had to be my favorite two signs. But, Channing Tatum’s face was a close runner up.
Stage 6: My grandma is calling
My grandma is calling?! Doesn’t she know I’m running a freaking half-marathon?! Seriously Nana, I’m in the middle of mile 6 and I’ll have to call you back to discuss Thanksgiving later.
Stage 7: The half-way mark
Half-way. I made it half-way. Can I just stop here? Who said walking was for old people? I’m just gonna walk a mile.
Stage 8: Firemen handing out Gatorade
Firemen…. seriously good looking firemen and all I can think about is the Gatorade. Gatorade is officially the nectar of the gods. Hopefully I’ll see you firemen later.
Stage 9: Mile 12
1.1 miles left! And I’ve listened to “Survivor” by Beyonce about 4 times now. Beyonce will get me through this, Beyonce can get me through anything.
Stage 10: The finish line
Oh it’s a beautiful thing. Thirty seconds after it’s over you’re handed a cold towel and a medal. I’m not sure which one I was more thankful for in that moment. And now, ice cold beer. (After I have a good cry, throw up, and call my Nana back).
