For those of you who have been following or if you’re just stopping in, I’ve been trying to train for a half-marathon. Repeated foot/knee issues have interfered. Made the decision to go for it anyway.

Sunday
2:30 a.m. The alarm is set for 4 a.m. but I’m now wide awake after a decent night’s sleep.

3:15 a.m. Give up the ghost of sleep and get up. Dress, but dither a moment or two over which socks to wear. Make my tea. Breakfast is open faced sando of toasted sprouted bread, peanut butter with flax seed, sliced banana and drizzle of honey. I’ve got the extra time so I even put on eye make-up.:happy2

4:45 a.m. Leave my house and head for the train station to take me to Underground Atlanta. Listen to my daughter’s favorite hip-hop station on the way to get me pumped up. (Shhhh. Don’t tell her that I now listen to it when she’s not even in the car and I don’t have to. What’s up with THAT?)

6:15 a.m. Off the train and among the THOUSANDS of people milling around. There are 15,000 people signed up for this race and that doesn’t include the volunteers. Good grief do I have to pee. Long line of porta potties and long lines to get in them but you gotta do what you gotta do. I finish my porta potty business and Stephanie Bond and I hook up.

7:10 a.m. I’m hugging the left side of the street near the sidewalk. Masses of people ahead of me, masses behind. Steph and I have been chatting with a man from Cincinatti, Ohio who I’d guess is in his mid-forties. He’s a social worker and he’s running the marathon, not the half. His goal is to run a marathon in all 50 states. We ask him how he got interested in running. He used to smoke 3 packs of cigarettes a day and when he stopped, he had to find an outlet for all the energy he found. :thumbsup: He’s now run 14 marathons in as many states.

I like talking to Steph and this guy. It keeps me from being nervous about taking on something I haven’t properly trained for– I’m trusting my body will hold up for this. And then the conversation’s over as someone talks over a loud speaker and a murmur rolls back over the crowd like a wave. “The race has started.”

I start moving forward, hugging that left side of the road. Faster runners pass me. I weave my way around the walkers. Tall buildings soar on either side and approaching dawn is lightening the dark sky. I’m approaching the starting line. Load speakers blast the theme from Rocky. Spectators line the sidewalks with noisemakers, holding signs, yelling encouragment — “Go, runners, go!” It was an incredibly moving moment, an intense feeling of being part of something bigger than myself, a collective energy.

Mile 3. I’m feeling good, enjoying the run. Pleased with my pacing. Muscles feel good. Breathing is good. Bottom of my feet hurt a little, but I can deal with that. Running makes me feel POWERFUL. I don’t know why. I’m not fast. My pace actually earns the jogging label. I’m not a pretty runner. I’m twenty pounds overweight and I just sort of plod along, but I feel powerful when I’m out there. (Uh, losing those 20 or 30 pounds would probably help that plodding pace :doh: but I digress.)

Mile 4. I feel it starting. The slight discomfort on the outside of my left knee that means my foot and my tibia are now out of alignment. NOOOOOOOOO! I’m going to ignore it. I’m strong. I’m going to do this. Half a mile further and there is no ignoring it or willing it away. It’s more than a slight discomfort. It’s a nagging ache. Damn it to hell. Muscular aches I can deal with, stretch through. Leg out of proper alignement with foot? Not good.

New plan. Walk a minute, run two minutes. This works for a while. But the running part is sucky cause my knee is just getting worse. New plan. Walk two minutes. Run one. Better for a bit.

Mile 6. The first marathoner laps me. That’s right. I’ve gone 6 miles, this guy has gone a little over 19 in the same amount of time. He’s all muscle, focused, doesn’t look left or right as we all cheer him as he passes on the left side. In-fricking-credible. I find out later that he’s from Kenya, as is the guy that come up quickly behind him.

My walk two, run one is no longer working for me. My knee is somewhere this side of excrutiating. I’ve now regressed to mostly walking with intermittent burst of running. I can walk pretty fast without it hurting.

1.5 miles left to the finish line. The hospital where I had my surgery two and a half years ago is on my right. I grit my teeth and dig in and run that part. It feels symbolic to me (but then again, maybe I’m just a nut).

.5 mile left. A spectator yells, “Come on, you’re almost there, let’s see a sprint.” I’m planning to run over the finish line on principle but I can’t manage half a mile on my knee. I manage not to yell back that she can bite my butt.

It’s there. The finish line. Right ahead of me. I dig in and run over that line.

3 hours, 5 minutes.

A half-marathon. I’m not fatigued. I’m not winded. But then again, I walked most of the last 7 or 8 miles. Someone puts a medal around my neck and I keep moving because I don’t want my leg to get stiff and now I realize the bottom of my feet, just below my toes hurt like a …well, a lot.:bat:

Not the finish I wanted. Not particularly the run I wanted, but by God, I’ve done it. I’ve completed 13.1 miles.

Advil, ice and Biofreeze are all beautiful things. I’m actually in good shape this morning. And I’m already planning/looking for a fall half-marathon.:mrgreen:

Here’s a post-race photo, courtesy of Steph’s husband, in front of the ING hot-air balloon. The cut-out to the left is where Brenda Chin will be next year when she joins us on this run :wave:, Stephanie Bond, and moi.