Or, in my case, any pain is
my gain. In other words--I survived my first-ever half-marathon!
Impossible, you say? I'm tempted to agree with you, except the fact is I seem to be sitting here and typing these words, which means I must be alive, which means that I didn't die during the incredibly taxing physical ordeal that I put myself through two days ago. I still can't quite believe that I a) drove up to San Francisco early Saturday morning, b) ran the half-marathon segment of theNike Women's Marathon
early Sunday morning, and c) drove all the way back to Los Angeles on Sunday night.
Next time, I am so
taking an airplane.
But yes, I said next time! The fact is, I had a blast! And
--are you ready for this?--I actually ended up running pretty nearly the whole thing. Though I admit I use "running" in the loosest possible sense, meaning "jogging at about the same pace as a really fast walker." Today I am terribly sore, although massive amounts of ibuprofen and naproxen have done wonders to keep me from keeling over and/or sobbing from the physical trauma sustained by my still-in-shock body over the course of 13.1 miles (which I "ran" in just under three hours).
I have been walking like an old lady ever since. Actually no--I think an old lady would get around better than I can right now. An old lady with a walker
would beat me in a footrace today.
Come to think of it, I want
a walker. Ouch!
At least the route was beautiful. I adore San Francisco, and even though it was a bit foggy (I couldn't see the Golden Gate Bridge, though we passed right by it), I thoroughly enjoyed running along the Embarcadero, up past the Presidio, and then down to Baker Beach and the Great Highway before heading through Golden Gate Park...all of which brought back memories of my time living in the Bay Area a few years ago. In fact, the first part of the route exactly coincided with a route that I rollerbladed as part of a Friday Night Skate event in the city, and during which I was injured when some drunk guy in a car through a bottle out the window and it hit the railing along the path where we were skating, so that it broke, and I got caught in all the flying glass, and sustained a cut on my elbow that led to two whole stitches (after four hours in the emergency room) and a little scar that looks purple when it gets cold out. Ah, yes...good times in San Fran!
But I digress, as usual. Back to the half-marathon!
I did well for the first nine miles, but then I had to walk part of the way up an apparently never-ending hill...I picked up the pace again on the way down. There came a point, actually, where walking hurt more than running. I know that sounds like a big fat lie, but it isn't. However, that said, the last two miles were brutal and I had to walk a bit there too. However, I did succeed in running across the finish line, where I and the other finishers were met by about 20 guys in tuxedoes with gift boxes from Tiffany's on silver trays--our reward for making it to the end of the grueling race. The boxes, I mean, not the men!
(I am still not sure, actually, if I appreciated that final finishing (ha) touch or not. I mean, after all, let's face it--a girl does not exactly look her best after running 13 miles! At least, I
sure as heck don't.)
Oh well. The point
is, I--who never knowingly, or particularly willingly, ran more than a mile or two at a stretch in her entire life
, and with no training whatsoever, actually ran a half-marathon, and I am still around to tell the tale (in probably a lot more words than were striclty necessary, of course!)! In other words--I did something crazy and I lived! Wow, maybe I should try bunjy jumping next!
Or maybe not. Unless they have studly guys in tuxedoes waiting at the bottom of the jump. Then I might.