I Ran Another Half Marathon

I was trying to think of a creative post title but instead discovered that my brain is already Zoom-fatigued on a Monday. At least now you know what you will be reading about and can leave now more sure of your decision to do so. An additional note before I dig in: the race I ran did NOT look like this photo. I will explain.

Oh wait, and one more thing… When I use the word “another,” as in “another half marathon,” this is not to express boredom with a routine that includes many of these feats. This was only my second 13.1 run, so “another” in this case is a word of pride.

I will start here with an ode to runner 579, Katie Hill, who was unable to attend the event with me and our dad due to injury. She’ll be out there with us next time, and we leapt across the finish line in her honor. I’d hate to hover on this, but I’m her sister, so sucks to suck.

But what I tried to console her with was definitely true: this was not the half marathon that you wanted to be your first. It was organized well enough to guide us through new neighborhoods of Queens and Brooklyn, provide us with water marking key turns, and supply a Nike t-shirt and pint glass at the finish. But there were only 150 runners, no spectators (expecting this, we told my mom to stay home), and we had to wait for a few red lights, as traffic was not blocked for racers.

Don’t get me wrong, we had a great time, but I am glad that Katie’s first half (August 1st) will be met with more fanfare, a prettier course (Central Park), and the true energy that comes when you are racing within sight of dozens of others, rather than weaving through pedestrians with no knowledge of the race or why they are suddenly being charged at.

We prefaced the race with a desperate search for a bathroom, without a CVS in sight. A kind man behind the deli counter at a local grocer, who spoke not much English, showed us downstairs through a door marked “private,” passed a prep station and a lurking grey cat, and into a bathroom where we were forced to wash our hands with dish soap. I was honestly surprised to see soap at all. My dad had really needed to pee, so later in the evening he referred to this deli counter man as the hero of the night.

It was Saturday evening, around 5:30, that we headed out at the sound of the megaphone’s built-in alarm. So as we ran, we were perfectly timed to crash front yard barbecues and birthday parties, to hear the music of the diverse zip codes of the outer boroughs, and to smell… stuff. Lots of smells.

Luckily, the course was mainly flat and any hills were kindly gradual. Though we were not able to see other runners in front of us for much of the time, when we stopped to cross the gush of Woodhaven Boulevard, several of our peers caught up to us on the median, and we commiserated about how the flow of traffic was messing with our own flow. One runner commented that my dad and I were keeping a good pace. He must’ve been behind us for a stretch, watching my ponytail swing with my stride.

The only hiccup of the race was at around mile 12, when my left ear clogged up (as it sometimes does when I exercise), which caused some breathing issues and nausea. But we still managed to leap across that finish line at 1:57 and change, meeting my goal of a sub-2-hour half. (Related, if anyone else experience this ear clogging and knows the fix, please share.)

I won’t try to wax poetic much more on the evening, the way exhaustion immediately set into my legs upon crossing the finish, or the deliciousness of the pizza we ate afterwards in our change of clothing (an attempt to swat away the chill that worked about 50%). We did it, and I left my medal in the back of my dad’s car to prove it. After we did it, I showered and went to bed with soaking wet hair, because after 13.1 miles, who has time to blow dry?

The race was nice because I had my dad with me. I do not think I would have enjoyed it alone to the same extent I enjoyed my last half, as the previous outing was alongside thousands of others. Did I have a nice time? I would say definitely more so during the first 6.55 miles than the second 6.55. But it was nice to aim all my aimless pandemic running towards a goal, even if that goal was merely written in yellow chalk on the sidewalk in front of a cemetery.