It's now well over 48 hours since my sister Emily, my mother Janet, and myself crossed the finish line of my fourth, Emily's second, and Janet's first half marathon, hands held high in the runner's trifecta of agony, awe, and accomplishment after 2:28:44 of pounding the pavement.
In the wake of what happened to a number of the marathoners due to the unforeseen heat and humidity On Sunday, I am extremely pleased that we finished and am even more proud of our time.
But I'm getting ahead of myself - REWIND.
Sunday morning we all woke before light and snacked on parts of bagels and bananas and dressed in our snazzy matching running gear. Emily and Janet had been fretting about the predictions of early morning heat the night before and it was definitely disheartening to walk outside at 6 am to read that it was 73 degrees already. Nerves jangling, we packed into the car and my father kindly chauffeured us downtown.
Waiting in line at the requisite Port-A-John stop, I heard a veteran runner talking about planning to modify his pace due to the weather. Dressed in nothing but running shorts and shoes, with a hairless chest and legs, this man's words made the hair stand up on the back of my head and I prayed that Janet hadn't heard. If a pro is adjusting his plan of attack, you know a newbie is in for it.
With 17,000 registered participants in the half and full marathon, the starting line was headed by the elites, followed by five starting corrals. After snaking our way into the middle, Janet leaned over and whispered to me, "Am I supposed to feel like a cow?" We were a veritable pack of cattle - stomping, nervously tossing our heads, and anxiously awaiting the go.
Due to our "D" corral positioning, it took nearly ten minutes for us to actually start running the race - a brief anticlimactic hiatus after the shot goes off - and as we ran under the gate, I heard Janet shout, "I saw your father!"
The first few miles were absolutely crazy. With thousands of people running, we spent miles 1-4 dodging in and out of runners alone, in pairs, and groups, trying to find a slot to run at a comfortable pace. For the first time, I found myself shrouded in a fine mist of thousands of other people's sweat and hot breaths. (Trust me, that only reads half as disgusting as it felt.) Thankfully, those first miles were also some of the most scenic, taking us towards the Arch, then routing us through Soulard, around the Anheuser-Busch Brewery (nothing like the smell of fermenting hops and yeast on a warm, humid morning), and past Busch Stadium.
Up to this point, we had seen some fun signs and heard the encouragement of spectators, but when we doubled-back across the the start/finish area, we were all blown away by the roar of the crowd and the sight of thousands of people running up the gradual incline west on Chestnut Street.
After that high, things started to get a little dicey. The temperature was steadily rising, and the long slow rise and fall of rolling hills proved much more challenging than we expected. Emily struggled particularly with the heat, fighting off dehydration, and we backed down a little from our goal pace of 11:00/mile to walk up some of the hills. Going into the turn-around at mile 10, we started noticing runners on the side of the road being tended to by EMS. We weren't the only runners who had slowed to a walk.
I can only imagine what those final three miles felt like for my mother. I surprised myself, feeling as good as I did. For once, I was present enough to enjoy the runners (sweat and breath and all), the crowds, the music, the hills, and even the weather. But I've been in her shoes before. All three times before, actually - your mind goes numb while your body is acutely aware of how tired it is, and you believe that the miles will never end. I have fought tears during those last three miles before and I have wept after finishing. I kept shouting with each mile over 10 - Mile 11! Mile 12! Mile 13! - for each mile over 10 represented the longest run she had ever done.
When we came into the finish, I instinctively grabbed her hand and she Emily's and we crossed together. It was by far not my fastest half marathon but will undoutedly be my favorite.
And my favorite moment of my favorite half-marathon? Nearly 90 minutes after the race was finished and we were showered and on our way to a post-race brunch, my mother Janet shouts, in the car, "Oh my God! I actually did it!"
Yes, Mom, you actually did.
Miles 127-139: 13.1 miles at an 11:35/mile pace ran in the hot stickiness of a fickle spring day in the biggest small town I know.
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