The race started on time and we were off! It was a cold morning, but the sun was out so I warmed up pretty quickly. Plus, I went out faster than I normally do for races, so that helped warm me up too. I was a little alarmed when I saw my first two mile times, but it felt pretty good so I decided to just ride it out as long as possible. I didn't have a goal time since my training had been sporadic since the Princess Half, so I would have been okay with sputtering out midway and just taking it easy from there on out. However, that didn't happen...
In some insane twist of fate, I kept running faster and faster until I was at the point where I knew I could sub-2 and knew I'd totally hate myself if I didn't. I mean, an 8:34 mile during a half marathon?! For me!? What the hell was going on?? But it did catch up with me and by mile 9, I was totally and completely done. I hated myself for getting into the position to sub-2. I hated myself for not letting myself give up now that I was in the position to sub-2. I hated my legs, which were nothing more than flaming, painful appendages flailing from my lower body. I hated my lungs, which were consumed with the same fire as my legs. I hated the people in front of me who, for some idiotic reason, I still felt like I had to chase down.
I struggled through the last two miles, like seriously struggled. I was in so much pain. But I knew there would be no living with myself if I didn't follow through now that I had gotten so far, so I soldiered on. I hit mile 13 and saw my husband as I came into the stadium. He had been watching the clock and hoping that I was going to come in under the 2 hour mark, but I don't know if he really expected to see me when I came through. I remember seeing the clock as I rounded the corner of the track and knew it was almost over and that I had done it. I crossed the finish line, got my medal, and had just enough time to find Joe and hug him before I started crying and my legs gave out simultaneously. We walked around for a little while like that, me crying and him supporting me like a giant handsome crutch, while I tried to process what I had just accomplished.
Looking back on it now with some distance, I'm still just as emotional and proud as I was then. I've never, ever pushed myself as hard as I did that day and I'm so damn proud of it. This was a race that is going to stick with me for a very long time and now when I hit a rough spot with training, I can look back on this race and remember what I'm capable of.
