Blossoms of Hope Half Marathon Race Recap

Sunday morning I woke up to the sound of rain hitting the window, as unfortunately expected. The forecast was calling for rain until 7am, then turning into thunderstorms for the reminder of the morning and into the day. But I was ready to run rain or shine

My hips were super tight from sitting in the car for 6+ hours straight the previous day. I’d iced & stretched them the night before to try to nudge them back into shape, but they were still an issue when I woke up. For a brief second, it flashed through my mind that maybe I shouldn’t run, but I dismissed it thinking I was being overly paranoid. (I have a history of hip issues from too much ballet when I was younger.) The thought disappeared as fast as it came on, and I was ready to run.

I piled on some extra layers, wrapped my Ipod in a plastic bag, and threw on a hat to keep the rain out of my eyes. My mom and I arrived at the race site at 6:30 for a 7am start- I just wanted time to pick up my chip & stop by the porta potties. (My mom was volunteering at the finish line). I was shocked to see almost nobody there. I double checked my watch in confusion, but the race really was supposed to start in 1/2 an hour. I guess people are scared of the rain in MD?

I was expecting a ton of people- not only was there the half marathon, but a 5k, and 3 different length bike rides going on for the event. It was a little eerie how empty and subdued everything was. I think the highest bib number I saw was in the 300s, and apparently those were for the relays. Let’s just say I was #140 and I only signed up a few weeks ago.

The half marathoners headed to the starting line just after 7am. There was no fighting for a spot up front- it almost seemed like everyone wanting to be in the back. I’ve never been in a starting lineup that wasn’t packed shoulder to shoulder, but this sure wasn’t- it was like everyone had a case of horrible B.O. or something.

After an uneventful start, we all started running through the rain and puddles. The whole course was on the street- a lane blocked off from traffic by lovely orange cones. The rain picked up pretty hard once or twice in the beginning, but it actually never got as bad as was predicted. (Hooray!!) It was enough to be pretty drenched though The spray from cars going through puddles didn’t help either.

The course was extremely lonely- I saw more police officers directing traffic than I did other runners, cheer-ers, or aid-station volunteers. There was only gel at mile 1 and 12 (umm whose idea was that?!).

I’d say within the first three miles I wanted nothing more than to call it a day and tell my mom we should just go home instead. I was tired, in pain, cold, wet, lonely, and frustrated. I’d decided to wear my backup shoes since it was going to be so wet- I didn’t want to wear my favorites. (Ok, seriously, I have 2 pairs of the same exact shoes but in different colors- I’m sure it’s just in my head but I really like one pair better than the other.) I was already regretting wearing the “bad” shoes…

But for some reason, mostly because runners are crazy I think, I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I told myself it didn’t matter that I couldn’t see any other runners- I run by myself all the time. At some point, something just clicked and I was fine. I was just enjoying being outside running. I didn’t care that I was wet or alone, or already tired and achy and barely half way through the first part of the course.

And OH the hills. My oh my. I grew up in Maryland— did I forget there were hills there or did they suddenly grow in the years I’ve been in NC?! They weren’t gigantic hills you could conquer and be done with- they were slow, gradual inclines, that you have to push up and convince yourself that you really want to make it to the top.

The worst was the 1/2 mile leading up to the turn around point halfway. Oh. my. gosh. A day later and I’m still impressed I made it up. Let’s just say if I was on a bike, I would have been walking it up the hill.

I was SO looking forward to kicking that hill’s butt on the way back down. But guess what? The down hill might have been harder. Ok it wasn’t- but it wasn’t the joyride I was hoping for. It was steep, so I had to work hard to control myself to not tumble down it, or to let my legs go crazy and just slam into the ground. I think it took me just a minute too long to figure that out, because that’s when the knee pain started.

Suddenly pain was shooting from my right knee all the way up to my hip. It was excruciating. I kept running through it because I refused to stop, but my brain kept nagging me- telling me I really should stop before I give myself another injury. I slowed to a walk as I grabbed a cup of Gatorade from an aid station. As I started up again, I realized if I shortened my stride it didn’t hurt as much.

I kept making deals with myself- “see how it feels for a few more steps and if it still hurts you have to stop”. It got to the point where I was literally saying to my body “thank you for making it this far; come on hold it together”. Eventually, the pain eased up. As long as I kept my stride short, I felt ok. (You know how sometimes you can just tell the difference between “injury pain” and “sore pain”?…it went from injury to just sore.)

Honestly at this point I was just content. There’s nothing like being at the point of having to stop to make you appreciate what your body can handle. I settled into a nice cadence and just kept thinking to myself to take short quick steps. I was eternally grateful I’d decided to bring my music with me.

Finally—people!! For the last few miles I was with two guys- I’m really not sure who was pacing who- I think we were silently alternating roles.

Somewhere a little before mile 12 I looked at my watch. I’d hit the wrong button at the beginning, so I’d accidentally started it about 10 minutes in to the run. I did a little math and realized I wasn’t nearly as slow as I thought I was, and I was actually going to finish at a decent time. I picked it up a little, knowing I could do anything for the last mile.

When I rounded the corner and saw the finish line, I picked up my pace even more. Normally I wait til the very end to start sprinting, but I started sprinting right where I was. I wanted to say I gave it my all, no matter the circumstances. It felt absolutely fantastic.

I eyed the girl in front of me and ran until I passed her right at the finish line. I kept going for a bit, then slowed down, absolutely exuberant with my finish.

Then I looked up. It wasn’t the finish line. It was the set of mats that tells the announcer who’s coming. As soon as I figured it out I started sprinting again. Then I crossed the real finish line. I passed the same girl again.

This is NOT the finish line:

I was pissed. I was SO mad I got the finish line wrong. WHO DOES THAT?! My mom was actually the one who got to put my medal around my neck when I finished- but of course I was too mad yelling about how stupid I was that I missed the finish line. Know why I was really mad? I saw the clock. I literally finished 30 seconds slower than my previous half. If I had sprinted the whole way through the real finish line I could have beaten my other time. (Ok, no, I couldn’t have made up 30 seconds in that distance, but still.)

Then I got over it. I just finished my second half marathon in 2 months. 4 weeks apart. I thought about quitting twice- once in defeat and once in pain. But I didn’t. I finished strong. And that’s why I run.

Post race eats: although there was no food at the finish line, just around the corner there was a post-race meal at a pub-

The cookies were calling my name. I think I had four.

I ended up coming in 8th of 19 in my age group. 2:04:54. Which confuses me- that’s what the clock said when I crossed the finish line, yet I didn’t cross the start line at 0:00. Hmmmm.

More pictures to come!!