Since I was in the Milwaukee-area for some gigs, I decided to sign up for the Luck of the Irish 15K race.
I was so not pleased when I received this email the day before the race:
At least, I thought to myself, they might have some green beer to combat the pain of running in the bitter cold and slipping on the ice. Sadly, I was wrong.
Before heading out the door in this get-up (yes, I actually wore those glasses in public),
I made a little video:
I got to the race early and picked up my bib and tech shirt. I was pretty disappointed with the way it looked, but I suppose puke green is a genius color for St. Patrick's Day as it camouflages vomit.
When I arrived at the race site, I was quite blown away by how athletic everyone looked. Not sure if it's the fact that Wisconsin is known for cheese, but I was looking for people who appeared unhealthy and beatable. Even though I'm terribly slow, and I am far from being considered an "athlete," I still don't like getting passed by seven-year-olds (which happens nearly every race) and people who look like they might die from a heart attack at any moment. Just an ego thing, really.
Except for the guy smoking near the starting line of the 5K, everyone looked pretty serious.
I was nervous. I asked a guy to take my picture (this bad boy below, which is the last time my thighs didn't feel like jelly) near the starting line, and he confessed it was his first 15K. I confided that it was mine as well and made a joke about it becoming a 10K very quickly. He laughed, and I sized up how fit and serious he looked. He was wearing running pants and appeared to be in good shape. The likelihood of beating him = slim to none.
I scanned the group and found a guy who looked like he could be a grandfather and a couple of women who, tactfully put, appeared to be in the "beginner exerciser" category.
"Okay," I told myself, "at least I won't come in dead last. But, it could be close."
The weather was absolutely freezing (below 32 degree temperature + a light snow + wind does not fun make), but as soon as I ran for a half mile or so, I didn't notice too much. What I did notice was how many hills were in the course! Rather than being one long course, we ran four loops of the same course. So the first time I saw the major hill, all I could think was, "dear God, I've got to do this three more times? Oh, the humanity!"
I tried to ease the negative thoughts in my head, and instead, I turned up my music louder and told myself that I could get through it. This worked until about mile 6, then I hit a wall.
After mile 7, my legs felt like wet noodles. No matter how much I tried to pep talk them, they just did not want to move faster, especially on the hills.
I saw a guy with a "Go Vegan!" shirt. I contemplated cheering for him or yelling a supportive message, but then I realized I was too out of breath to do so. Plus, he appeared to be in great shape and was blowing by the competition. I wanted people to think that's what vegans are, not some huffing and puffing woman who can barely make it up a hill without grunting and walking.
Despite the pain (and I definitely started to hurt all over after mile 8), I powered through. And eventually, I finished!
The deserted finish line. I'm not even kidding, everyone (including the race officials) had pretty much gone home by the time I crossed.
I didn't care though, I was just happy I finished on my own two legs, and didn't have to be carried off in a stretcher.
I got my official time, and here's what it said:
Ouch!
Well, at least I wasn't last. I'm pretty sure the grandfather and the "beginner" women all beat me and that the mysterious 89th person was just someone who didn't show up that day. But, hey, I finished, and that's what matters!
I now know that I need to up my training if I actually want to be able to use my legs again after my first half-marathon. I also know that anything sounds more appealing than running outside in the winter in Wisconsin.
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