Hospital Hill Half-Marathon Race Report

The expectation of race directors for runners is runners train properly by logging the necessary miles, long and short, and are mentally prepared for the race for which they paid money.
The expectation of a runner for oneself is adequate and proper training, both physical and mental is a requirement, performed weeks (and sometimes months) in advance, in order to achieve the greatest results.

Expectations are sometimes not met.

I ran the Go Saint Louis Half-Marathon in April...it was not a solid performance. I trained improperly and inadequately, but still carried a confidence into the race that I had not had in the previous two half-marathon races. I failed to run a good race, walking multiple times and landing a 1:45.

The preface to all of this is simple: I ran the RunTotoRun 10 mile trail race in February...again improperly trained. However, I loved that race. Running through the woods, up hills meant for mountain goats, through the mud...it was like being a kid again. Awesome. But with one downside: I instantly did not want to run road races anymore. Fast forward to the morning of the Hospital Hill Half-Marathon race....nope, not going to do it anymore...this is the last road race.

And then I started to run.

The weather was hot, humid, and perfectly normal for Kansas City, MO in the spring. I decided to run the first few miles easy...watching my Garmin to ensure I didn't broach 7:40 / mile. I have a tendancy to feel really strong after the first mile, and then I blow up around mile 7...at least that is what happened in STL (reference my inadequate training, in addition to). But, I kept it nice and easy...steady as she goes...for the first 5 miles. And then, something strange happened...

Gliding up the hill past the college, I started to smile. I was having fun. Of course, I was not running to compete, even with myself, but was just running. I stopped at every aide station, taking Gatorade and water (sometimes), stopping to ensure I was drinking the fluid instead of sloshing it down my shirt, and started back up. I had not run more than 8 miles in a single run since STL, so I was concerned how my legs would handle the distance. At mile 8, I did a systems check: legs - good; arms - good; fingernails - growing (wierd); feet - good; visor - failing.

Mile 9 came with a parting of a newly made friend, forever. Holding a hat in my hand simply isn't worth it. So I tossed it into the yard of the joyous new owner of an Under Armour white visor, and took off.

Mile 10 came with the pain. I had a rock in my shoe, I thought anyway. A stabbing pain to my ankle that caused an instant reaction...must...stop...to...remove...the...stupid...rock. NO! I refused to stop. There was no water, there was no Gatorade, so there would be no stopping.

I attribute running to penance, sometimes. I deserve the pain. I have earned it. I will pay for it.

Mile 12 should have had trumpets blariing from my Garmin, because it meant there was only a mile to go. I was running strong, I felt good, and I was still smiling. So I sprinted.

Sprinting for a long distance runner is like having an out-of-body experience. It isn't natural, and I get light-headed. But man, what a rush! It was my cliff-dive rush. Up the massive hill on the backside of the Federal Reserve Bank (they keep a ton of cash just below the courtyard at that place), and then down the hill. My dear friend was there, waiting for me as I sprinted by. She didn't see me, of course. Must have been going too fast! (As a side note, a long-distance runner sprinting is like watching a 100 meter dash sprinter take a victory lap...speed-wise, anyway).

Finish line...

Hospital Hill was my slowest time yet...1:49 and a lot of change. But it was a rejuvination of my runninig self. I learned in 13.1 miles to enjoy the run, to have fun, and to not worry. Isn't that was running is all about? Racing is about winning, and the time in which you finish. Running is about running, no matter what the pace.

Oh, and the medal. The Flavor Flav-sized medal! You know what they say about a man with a huge medal...