It is done. Behold. 12 months. 12 half marathons. 11 medals (the place holder is for August, Riley’s Rumble did not give out medals, but did give out popsicles around mile 7).
It worked out like this:
January: Charleston Half Marathon, 1:59:53
February: Colonial Half Marathon, 2:09:17 (a very bad run for me, this, but lovely weather!)
March: DC Rock and Roll Half Marathon, 2:02:55
April: Raleigh Rock and Roll Half Marathon, 1:53:29
May: Pittsburgh Half Marathon, 1:55:32
June: Dexter/Ann Arbor Half Marathon, 1:56:45 (This one felt a lot worse than the time showed)
July: Pennsylvania Grand Canyon Half Marathon, 2:04:11 (This was basically on the sides of a mountain. Two miles up, two miles down. Two miles up…)
August: Riley’s Rumble Half Marathon, 2:01: 59 (This was one week after the July race. It was nothing but rolling hills and pain. I ended up severely hyponatremic the next day. I really do not recommend it.)
September: Navy/Air Force Half Marathon, 1:50:35 (What a difference six weeks off makes!)
October: Woodrow Wilson Bridge Half Marathon, 1:51:12
November: Philadelphia Half Marathon, 2:12:45
December: Fredericksburg Blue and Gray Half Marathon, 1:57:50
I must say I am a little frightened to put those times out there. You can see how much they vary, when I had good or bad days. You can see at my best, I’m not actually very fast at all. And when I’m slow, I’m shamefully so.
But here we are.
Stats
12 months.
12 half marathons (plus a couple of 5ks and I think there was a 15k in there as well)
Probably more than 1000 miles run.
Two pairs of shoes, three sets of insoles.
Toenails lost: 1
Blisters: 0 (too many callouses already)
Injuries: 0!! I credit my weight lifting, attention to form and generous foam roller application.
When I started this crazy idea, I think I hoped I would discover something profound about running. Something deep about inner peace, or what it takes to succeed, or something else that felt full of meaning and that I might want to write about at length. But really, through all of these runs, I discovered one thing.
I am bored.
Bored of running.
I never thought I would say it. I’ve been running and racing for a decade. But by this morning, as I stepped out for my last race…I just wasn’t excited anymore. I wasn’t excited to train. I didn’t want to go running. Whether I got a run in had far more to do with whether I had a new Serial episode to listen to than with whether I had miles to get in.
I ran a 5K on Thanksgiving in Charleston. I raced out through town and around the Battery at a (for me) spanking pace of 7:32. It was a beautiful day, not too cold, wind in your face. I was 1.5 miles in and my only thought was “am I done yet?” It wasn’t that I was tired. I’m just…tired of running.
It’s not my body. My legs are in top form. I’m not overtrained. It’s my mind.
I thought I would attempt a marathon after this, aim for something in March. But right now, I don’t know if I could do it. I don’t know if my brain could take forcing my body out of bed the next 12 weeks to get in the mileage. I’m just out of go.
I succeeded in my goal. But somehow, I still feel I ended in defeat. I hoped I would finish this year more motivated, more in love with running than ever before. Instead, I don’t want to run another step. In an effort to further my love of running, I forced it. And forced that love out.
I still like to run with my friends. I still think it’s the best form of exercise for me. But I think, right now, I need a break. From racing. And maybe even from running. I need time to want to run again. Time to feel that drive. And in order to feel that drive to race, I suppose I have learned, you need rest.
