On Saturday, though, on the roads of Carmel, I did.
Pre-race
I got off work a bit early on Friday, and Mark met me at his parents' house with the kids. I nursed Si, offered some last-minute tips on getting him to sleep and fielded the 1,500 inquiries from Miles about when we were going to leave. I guess he was as antsy as I was to get the weekend started.
After a few hugs and reassurances from my in-laws that the boys would be fine, Mark and I began the two-hour or so drive to Carmel. I was rather impressed with us – we talked the whole way down and generally enjoyed each other's company. It's amazing the things you can discuss when you're not unlocking iPads and tossing toys in the backseat.
Mark was so nice – he made me a bottle of strawberry lemonade Nuun to drink on the drive down.
The Carmel Marathon Expo took place at the Monon Community Center and, thank goodness, was open until 9 p.m. The process of picking up my bib was ridiculously smooth, and I was able to hit up the booths within a few minutes.
The race had long-sleeve shirts specific to each distance for sale, and each participant's name was printed on the back. It was a really neat idea, and I almost bought one – twice. Once at the expo and once after the race. Alas, I got a race shirt and don't really need another long-sleeve tech tee. #wompwomp
There were quite a few races represented, too, and I had to stop myself from registering for a slew of fall half marathons. I'm currently torn between the Indy Women's Half in September and the Urban Bourbon Half (Louisville) in October.
By 7:50 p.m., Mark and I were on our way to the hotel, which was supposed to be just a few miles away. A 10-minute drive based on the directions I had printed out from Google.
Yeah. About that. It took us 40 effing minutes.
Between Google maps, 15,000 roundabouts, insane construction and misleading addresses, our drive to the hotel was ridiculous. At one point, I had a complete meltdown, screaming that the whole race was jinxed and we might as well turn around and go home. The struggle to find it was my biggest complaint of the weekend, and I think it would behoove the city of Carmel to make things easier for people visiting.
But 5 minutes later, we found the hotel and I was back to being happy. Mark massaged my calves and I drank lemon-lime Nuun and watched HGTV.
Race morning
I woke up at 5:40 to pump and get dressed so that I could hit up the hotel breakfast when it opened at 6 a.m. Because everyone is dying to know – I had a bagel, half with cream cheese and half with peanut butter.
Given our troubles with navigation the previous day, we left by 6:30 for the 7:30 race and arrived about 6:50.
Just then, the call was made to head to the corrals so I said goodbye to Mark, brushed off his remarks that he'd see me in an hour and 49 minutes and headed off.
The race
The goal for the day was to find the 1:55 pacer, hang with her until mile 9 and then drop her to make up some 48 seconds to PR.The pacers were easy to find, holding signs with goal times and wearing brightly colored shirts with pacer on the back. There were quite a few in my area – a 3:45 pacer for the marathon, 1:55 and 2:00 for the half and 4:00 for the marathon.
The 3:45 pacer {Troy, I think} was chatting up his group, offering tips and underscoring the importance of hydration for the race as marathon finishers would see temps in the high 60s. My gal was chatting with a friend so I found myself eavesdropping and sort of wishing I was running with him.
In a mile or so, I would, as fate would have it.
When the gun went off and we all crossed the timing mats, I made it my business to stick to the 1:55 pacer like glue. She made quick business of getting through the crowds and getting on pace, about 8:42 to 8:45.
But as we made our way down East 126th Street and I tried to find my own space, I found that I dropped her. I didn't want to waste time or energy looking back or trying to find her again so I decided that I was just going to run my race.
I was going to do it smartly, though. So as I came up on the 3:45 group, I realized that it offered me the opportunity to run with a pace group, log consistent splits, get the support I needed and if I needed to rein it in later, I would.
Our/my splits for those first few miles were 8:32, 8:20, 8:39 and 8:29. Even though they were faster than goal pace, I tried to do two things: stay positive and focus on the now.
About mile 4, the half marathoners split from the full participants and I soon found myself on my own. I didn't anticipate that it would affect me but I felt a bit lonely as I made my way up the hill after the turnaround. I didn't have Troy offering tips on everything from water stations to potty stops nor how to shake things out if the body was feeling tight. I was grateful that I was able to see runners in the 2-hour and 2:10 groups as they headed to the split. I spotted my buddy Joe who was running the half with his daughter! Screaming like a wild woman and waving was a much needed boost as we made our way on to Limberlost Drive.
I had considered trying to slow a bit, getting my pace to the 8:40 range but I had settled in closer to the 8:30 range. Rather than fret about it, I repeated in my head the words from my friends who urged me to believe in myself and to stay positive. And when a negative thought tried to worm its way in, I told myself that BRF Tami said no to them and I had to listen. Apparently, I'm very obedient when I run.
Splits for miles 5-9: 8:19, 8:29, 8:23, 8:33 and 8:31
While I was happy with my splits, I told myself that I needed to stay strong through mile 10 and then I could re-evaluate the time on my watch, how I was feeling and how I wanted to handle the final 5K.
But as we left the section of the course (miles 8-9.5ish) on the shady Hagan-Burke Trail, the heat and effort began to take its toll. There was a water stop about mile 9.75, and I used it as an opportunity to take a gel, grab two cups (one to drink, one to toss on my head) and walk up a hill.
To this point, I had been carrying my 8-ounce Nathan Handheld, filled with Lemon-Lime Nuun. I had refilled it at mile 7, too. I felt like I was doing well with hydration but my face did feel a bit salty.
At the crest of the hill, I told myself that now was not the time to give in so I tossed my handheld (sad face) and began to run. "The wheels cannot come off," I thought. "Not now." And to help with this, I started singing in my head "The Wheels on the Bus."
Like you do.
My mile 10 split came in at 9:19. I tried not to get upset with myself, knowing that I should have enough time banked (especially with an 8:19 in mile 5) that I would be OK.
But the stretch on Old Meridian was hot. And hilly (at this point in the race). And I was tired. And I soon found myself walking again. I was so disheartened. With each step, I felt like I was letting all of my hard work slip away. And when my watch beeped 9:27 for a mile 11 split, I knew it was do or die.
So I did.
I told myself that I worked too hard to let it go now. I knew it would be hard, that the margin for error was slimmer than ever, but I might have a chance. So I dug. I did speed play. I focused on catching people. I bribed myself. I did anything and everything to pick up my feet and get myself to the finish.
When mile 12 came in at 8:38, I felt a bit lighter. Not light but I knew that I just needed to work hard for 10 more minutes. Ten minutes = 9-minute mile for mile 13 and a 10-minute pace for the last tenth.
I run with my eyes closed - it's fun!
Note: While most courses "measure" long because of tangents, passing people, etc., I finished within five hundreths of 13.1 and didn't have to account for extra time for extra distance.There was a timing mat at 12.6 for the AmeriFirst Sprint to the Finish, and I tried to use it as an incentive to hit the accelerator but try as I might, the engine was sputtering. I was running out of gas.
But I needed to grind it out. I thought that I was going to be within seconds of 1:54:12 so I needed to push. I told myself that I could not rely on any time I had banked, that miles 10 and 11 had eaten it all.
Mile 13 came in at 8:43.
And once you hit mile 13, it's just a sprint to the finish. Sprint I did. I didn't worry about cameras or throwing up my hands. I didn't smile or think about those around me. I didn't care about race pleasantries and passing people around me. All I saw was the clock. A clock that was at 1:54.
I had to get it ... now.
My last split was 7:29 pace.
Knowing that I had done it was so overwhelming that I bent over at the waist, the strength to hold myself up gone, as a volunteer handed me water. I was shedding tears when I received my medal. When I saw Mark, all I could do was collapse in his arms.
It wasn't a perfect race but it was my race and for that I'm incredibly proud.
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