Log 62: All in a Day’s Work
On April 23rd - the night before my half marathon - I felt almost exactly the same way that I’ve felt going into every final exam I’ve ever taken. It’s a feeling of resignation, mixed with a little excitement, and a little bit of nervousness.
The excitement I felt came from a sense of unknowing anticipation. I have never run 13 miles before. Until a few weeks ago, I’d scarcely come close to it. But that’s how finals work. You take quizzes and tests, 3-5 mile runs and 6-9 mile runs, to prepare yourself. And, while the final exam will contain the content of all those quizzes and tests, you know that the final exam will be harder.
On April 24th, I woke up at 2:30 AM. I had intentionally gone to bed around 6:00 PM the evening prior, and was pleased to find that I wasn’t feeling all that tired. It was a bit eerie, moving about the hostel at such an odd hour - the lights inside turned off and the sky outside pitch black. I got dressed in the clothes I had laid out for myself, stretched, rolled out my legs, filled my water bottle, and hopped on a shuttle from Lahaina to Kaanapali - where the start/finish line was located.
As the shuttle pulled up to the Kaanapali Beach Hotel, I felt a pit in my stomach. I suddenly found myself dreading the thought that I wouldn’t be able to make it to the finish line - that all my preparation wouldn’t pay off. I felt all the more nervous because, deep down, I knew that said preparation had begun much later than is probably appropriate for running a half marathon, and the possibility that I would reach a point during the race where I was simply unable to continue was very real.
If you’ve prepared enough for this, then you have nothing to worry about, I comforted myself. And if you haven’t prepared enough, then you’re screwed either way, so there’s still no point worrying about it. I’ve been saying this mantra to myself (and to any classmate who would listen) since my first finals in middle school. It’s kind of dumb, but also kinda true. Once you step up to that start line, the general number of miles your body is going to be able to run that day has already been determined. All you can do at that point is give it your best effort.
The other runners and I loitered around the start line for about an hour before the race. I stretched, went to the bathroom, drank some electrolytes, stretched some more, and went to the bathroom again. I’m not gonna lie, it was a little intimidating seeing all the people who would be running the half marathon with me. I saw old men with T-shirts listing the myriad of marathons and half marathons they had already run. I saw women my age decked out in what looked to me like full tactical gear, but instead of helmets, grenades, and ammo belts, they had visors with headlamps, mini water bottles strapped to their waist and back, and vests with pockets full of Gu energy pouches.
Finally, a voice came over the speaker: “For last minute race changes, report to the big white tent! If you want to run a different race from the one you registered for, go to the white tent!” I side eyed the white tent, watching as a few people started making their way towards it - 5K/10K runners who woke up feeling extra energized and wanted to switch to the half marathon and half marathoners opting out and switching to the 10K/5K. For a moment, I considered joining the latter group. But then, another announcement.
“Half marathon begins in ten minutes! Half marathon runners, come towards the start line!” I’ll be honest, I looked on the marathon’s website a few nights before the race and saw that at last year’s race, they took a picture of everyone at the start line. When I heard that announcement, I was not shy about positioning myself as close to the front as possible, to ensure that I would be in this year’s photo. Once we were all queued up, the announcer started counting down from ten. And then, he got to zero, and the gun went off.
If I had been smart, I would have found a spot to start the race in the middle of the pack - perhaps even at the back. But definitely not at the front, because that’s where the serious runners start. Runners who came here not just to participate, but to win. Packed in between these runners, I had no choice but to start the race at a much quicker pace than I would have liked. Then, as the race really started to get under way, I had to watch around ninety people pass right on by me - participants who were no doubt much better runners than me and would beat me regardless, but still, no one likes getting passed on the first mile. And come to find out, they didn’t even take a picture.
The first five miles of the race went very smoothly. I was still moving a little faster than the pace I had originally intended (which was between 10-11 minutes per mile), averaging around 9:45 per mile. Around mile six, however, I started to waver.
I’ve gone on runs from the hostel in Lahaina to the Hyatt (which is about a mile from the Kaanapali Beach Hotel) - it’s become my standard training run since I’ve been here. That means that, for about 60% of the race, I’ll be on very familiar terrain. The other 40% of the route is south of the hostel, on an expanse of the highway that I’ve only set foot on once or twice. At the six mile mark, I was exiting my regular running route and continuing south into unknown territory. It was exhausting to have no sense of where the next mile marker would be - on the Lahaina to Kaanapali route, I can much better judge the length of each mile. To make matters worse, as I entered this 40% stretch of the race, the sun began to emerge from behind the volcano, Haleakala, and beat down on me. As I pressed on, a stitch formed in my side - something that has only happened to me once or twice in all of my runs here. How am I not at the turnaround point yet?! I knew that if I stopped and walked the remainder of the stretch, my numb legs would begin to ache, and it was doubtful that I’d be able to re-motivate myself to run. There’s no shame in stopping, I said to myself. Hell, there’s not even anybody here watching you. You’ve already run about 10K at this point, anyway. Maybe that’s enough?
I glared at the pavement rushing under my feet while I contemplated settling for finishing the race at a walk. Then, I looked up, and and my face split into a relieved smile. It wasn’t the turnaround point. But, it was a close second. The first few groups of runners headed in the opposite direction back to Kaanapali were approaching me. I resolved to run at least to the halfway checkpoint. It can’t be far. Five minutes later, I was there. I walked around the designated cones while sipping on a cup of water (I discovered early on that running while drinking from a paper cup is not feasible), finished it, and threw it in the trash. Then, suddenly, I was running again.
At each of the remaining checkpoints, I walked briefly as I gulped down one dixie cup of water, before resuming running. Every time I did this, it was harder and harder. I started to feel weak. I couldn’t even thank the volunteers handing out the cups. After what felt like days, I arrived at the twelve mile marker. One left. My pace quickened slightly - involuntarily. Now, it was me who was passing people, many of whom had slowed to a brisk walk. By the time I reached Kaanapali Parkway, I was smiling. I drive down that road every day to get to work. I know exactly what it looks like, and exactly how long it is. And right then, I knew I could run it. I actually started crying a little bit, then, just for a few moments. Whether they were tears of joy, relief, happiness, or sheer pain and exhaustion, I do not know.
Before I knew it, the finish line was in sight. At the start of the final stretch, everyone waiting at the line - both supporters and runners that had already finished - were gathered along guard rails, cheering everyone on. Well, everyone except this one lady. She had run right into the street in front of me, cheering and screaming and whooping and hollering at the top of her lungs like a maniac. I couldn’t even understand what she was actually saying, but I didn’t need to - the sentiment was clear. I forced myself to go faster, sprinting the last hundred meters to the finish line at max pace. I was going so fast, I accidentally ran over the finish line and right past the Air Force officers stationed there to award participation medals. Upon realizing this, I turned and jogged back towards one of the officers to receive mine. Why am I still running right now? The officer slipped a medal around my neck, congratulating me.
As I finally slowed to a walk, my ears started to ring. My legs wobbled, and my skin started to burn where it had chafed against my clothes. I stumbled to a water table, drank seven dixie cups, and found a spot in the grass to sit down.
Once I had recovered a little bit, I got back up and returned to the finish line to watch. By this time, the full marathon runners were beginning to trickle in. I shuddered to think what they had just subjected themselves to. Then, the announcer came back on, urging half marathon runners to report to a big white tent on the lawn where awards would be given. I wasn’t in any rush to get over there, but I was curious to hear the ridiculous times of the fastest runners. After a little while, I turned from the finish line and made my way to the awards tent. “Starting off our women’s 20-24 category, in third place, is Taylor Nelson!” The announcer bellowed. I raised an eyebrow and walked up to the table before getting a chance to find a place to sit. I was awarded a small wooden plaque with the details of the race on it.
I stayed for the rest of the awards, before heading to the shuttle station and travelling back at the hostel. I walked directly out the back door to the beach and into the ocean, submerging myself in the cool water.
Highlight: Somewhere around the 11 mile mark (2 miles left), I started running alongside a guy decked out in some pretty serious running gear. Well, if I’m keeping up with him, I must be doing something right. I quickly began to feel for him the irrational comradery that I feel with everyone I spend more than two minutes running next to. There’s something about us having the same experience in the race - being in the exact same spot on the course, that’s cool.
After a half mile or so, the guy started pulling ahead of me, and slowly but steadily put more distance between us until he had left me pretty far behind. Just as I started getting within sight of the finish line, he crossed it. I heard the announcer bellow, “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE HAVE OUR FIRST FULL MARATHON FINISHER!!!!” Damn. You’re telling me you ran twice as many miles as me in the same amount of time?! I take it back, we are absolutely not having the same experience in this race!
