My starting pace was average or maybe a few seconds slower. Average for me is 6mph (a 10-minute mile). Yes, I realize how slow that is, and I realize I need to drastically improve my pace if I want to run a sub-4:00 marathon - which I do. The good news is that I have almost 6 months to train for my first full marathon, by which time my average pace should be *knock on wood* 6.6 mph or faster. *GULP*
I will NOT be intimidated. Faster miles and longer distances sound daunting now, but I've really just got to take it one day at a time...right? After all, just over 4 months ago I didn't think I could ever run 2 miles without stopping. Anyway, back to my story.
Beverly arrived a few minutes before 6, with Alice arriving a few minutes after. These two will probably frequent my blog because they frequent the track where all of my running takes place. Here's what you need to know about them:
- They walk the track every morning to gossip about church folks and, as an added bonus, get some exercise.
- Beverly is fat and about my height.
- Alice is medium build and a midget's height.
- Both are old, as in over 60, though Beverly is considerably older.
- Alice looks exactly like Edna from Disney's "The Incredibles", so I refer to her as Edna is my own head, and now on this blog.
- Edna is RUDE. All I'm asking for is a little track etiquette! If a runner (me) is coming toward two people walking side by side(old ladies 1 & 2), it's polite for the one closest to the runner to move out of the way. Instead, Edna makes me jump off onto the grass at the last moment and almost twist my ankle or smash into her and almost knock her over. She'd probably have split her head on the cement if it weren't for her unnaturally low center of gravity.
As annoying as Edna is, I always feel a little better when I'm not all by myself in the pitch black. It was just the three of us for awhile, me sweating and them jabbering about pastors and sinning church members. As I came around finishing my seventh mile, I saw lights and a vehicle pulling out of the parking lot: my mom's van. My mom's van was driving away before my eyes. I looked at my parking spot - empty. My mom's van, where I had left the keys sitting right in the front seat for anybody to take, had been TAKEN. Then I saw my husband's car. Turns out I was stupid enough, at 4:30 in the morning, to take my mom's only means of transportation to work and she had to wake him up to drive her to get her van. In my defense, it felt like Sunday because I was off for Labor Day, and my mom doesn't work on Sunday. Okay fine, I'm a real idiot. Moving on.
Once assured that I hadn't gotten my mom's vehicle stolen, I set off again. 8 miles, then 9, 10. I was determined to run a half marathon, all 13 miles there alone at the track, with just God as my witness (old ladies had come and gone by then). I had run 12 miles the Sunday before, my longest distance ever. Before that, the farthest I'd run was 7 miles, so 12 was quite an accomplishment. I thought that surely one measly extra mile couldn't be much more difficult. I was wrong. After 11 miles, every step was agony. Pounding, pounding, pounding. Pain in my knees, pain in my ankles, and heavy, heavy legs. When had my normal bones been replaced with lead bones? I didn't sign up for this.
But folks, I did it. I finished those last two horrible miles. Honestly, I don't know how. They were pure torture. It was all psychological motivation that kept me going after that eleventh mile; determination and willpower alone completed my own personal Labor Day Half Marathon in 2:15. Much slower than I'd like, but I FINISHED. It's all about progress, and even though my time wasn't ideal, I pushed through fatigue and pain to go farther than I've ever gone. I'm SO proud of myself...and SO SORE. I think I need new shoes. :)
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