The GO St. Louis Half Marathon: 2:22 Finish Time (For Almost Fifty, I'll Take It!)

Pardon me while Vegan Thyme talks running. Serious running. So serious, she is still only able to walk--not run--with a bit of a limp to her stride. But I am one heck-of-a proud runner today!

Here's my play-by-play of the day (if you aren't into running--that's a shame first of all, second of all--feel free to skip this.) I'll be back with my vegan eats soon (and the vegan cake I treated myself to for having finished this race--well, it's worth the wait, trust me!).

This was the 10th Annual GO St. Louis Marathon and Half Marathon. It was the largest participation sport ever held in St. Louis. I was a bundle of nerves. How could I not be? The whole crowd thingy alone! Cripes, I tested some resolve yesterday, let me tell you.

So I found myself wide awake at 4:00 a.m. I was worried all night I'd oversleep, so all told, I probably had about five good hours of shut eye, if that. The half marathon started at seven sharp. I am not a morning person, nor am I a morning runner. This was going to test my will to be sure. The weather for the day was going to be a warm one, especially for a run of 26.2 miles (marathon) or 13.1 (half marathon). A good temperature range would be low 40s, high 50s, anything above that, you have trouble. Add the full sun bearing down--that spells double trouble. The weather, though sunny and "nice" was too warm for a run like this.

I arrived downtown at 5:45 a.m. and parked my car. It was still dark outside. (I worked downtown for seven years, the city does not scare Vegan Thyme.) I sat in my car and took deep breaths, pinned my bib to my shirt--which always proves a challenge to me. I want it centered, and sitting just right. (Covering the belly, and below the chest, and not lopsided.) This tried my patience. At one point, the safety pin and I had a battle. I was not going to let this ruin my day. Finally, at one of my two port-a-potty stops, I had a moment to re-calibrate the bib number pinning and all was right with the world.

The day before, Saturday, I met a bunch of runners for a short two miler--to get the jitters down. I had not run all week. One of the runners is a woman that manages a running store here in town--it's where we meet. After the run, I was all a-tizzy over what I'd wear! I am like, "OMG, I have no shorts to wear--I am shortless--what should I do?" The girls were like, "Why no shorts?" "Well", I told them, "I hate my legs--always have." I just go to crops and that is it. That would not do, they said. I needed more freedom and would perform better in a pair of "skorts". So I tried them on and at almost fifty I am like, Who cares? and now own my first ever "short" piece of clothing I've worn in years. I love them! Little nylon wonder wear--a legging insert--overlayed with a very cute little skirt--in black! I felt ready to run--standing proud in my cute new outfit! Women runners helping women runners, I love it!

Other then that get-together on Saturday, I had not run all week. I worked in the yard a lot. I worked out to a DVD for some cross training cardio. But no running. So, after checking my bib number, I had my other "gear" I needed: sunglasses, visor, smeared on sunscreen, an Elvis t-shirt (I got it at Graceland--never seen one like it since--I love it--brought it to wear when I finished), water bottle and keys. I parked five blocks away from the start and finish area. (Walking back to my car helped me recover after the run.) I hit the port-a-potty twice. This was good--I was nervous. This would help me perform well. I scouted the area. I was not alone. I could see others were there alone, too. (I told Mr. Thyme it would be okay for him to stay home--he had a business trip last week and it was a doozy--so I was totally okay going this alone.)

Where to go, at which point do I jump in line? There are pace signs amongst the crowd. Say you want to run a 9:50 mile--there was a pace group for that--with a large sign held up to keep their group on time. It was now about a quarter after six. I headed for the start line. This proved to be probably the biggest hurdle. The crowd of runners was nearly 17,000 strong--lots of energy, lots of pent up adrenaline-deprived runners who'd all trained for this--it was tense. We are all heading for the same place: behind the start line. The sun was just beginning to rise over the arch. It was a beautiful morning so far (still cool). I settled on a 10:30 pace area--smack dab in the middle--or so it seemed to me--I was about two blocks from the start line--but behind me, the line seemed to stretch farther. So the 10:30 pace seemed possible. It would not kill me. (People were not going to be able to "charge" anywhere in a crowd this large--I sort of hunkered in my spot and waited.) I've run a 5k race in 8:30 and some minutes per mile--I could do this. (Or could I?) I looked around me--I thought, None of these folks look like they could outrun me (runner's psychology), so I stayed where I was. (Plus, in all honesty, I'd have a tough time trying to re-position myself anyhow, by this time, it was quarter to seven, no one was moving an inch.)

The National Anthem was sung. Silence fell through the crowd. It was breathtaking. Whoever it was singing the Anthem, he brought the whole event to a silent, repsectful stop. I loved it! Then, the race began. Some mumbling began, too. We weren't moving. We didn't move for ten minutes or so. So now, I could not count on the clocks to give me an accurate read, I'd have to estimate. I had my Nike-ipod with me--my mileage counter on my other shoe. I was at least able to keep track of my pace with this--and know my distance I'd covered--which helped tremendously--especially toward the end.

Then trouble. I began to cramp in my legs when I hit mile seven--which happened to also coincide with hills. St. Louis' marathon and half are known for the intensity and challenge--our landscape is not flat at all here--even meandering through downtown, you encounter hills. And our hills run consecutively--not hill, then break, then hill, then break--there is hill, hill, and hill--and that can kill you in even the slightest amount of heat. After running non-stop for an hour, the sun was bearing down. We were all feeling it. When my cramping started to hit, I knew if I didn't get some fluids soon, I may find myself on the side of the road in a fetal position. My mind started to distract me, but I took some deep, slow breaths and told myself to keep going.

Then I started to think about all I'd had to deal with this year so far. It was only April, and here I was, after a three week hard stop in February. After "the incident". Of being bitten in the face by my own dog, after then saying good-bye to him after nine years, after a week's stay in the hospital right in middle of my half marathon training start, then, a week more of home nurse care after coming home and coping with all that--losing my dog, then coping with my changed face--new scar, new look, then, family member trauma, then just getting my head together--then, finally, here I was--running the half marathon. I remembered being in the hospital bed telling my doctor, "You have to fix this, I am running a half marathon in April!" I remember him smiling and telling me, You'll be doing that and more. He was so right. I should write and tell him this.

I needed some water. A water station was just around the corner. (Though I'd be lying if I didn't say I imagined I saw one in the distance--the old heat was playing tricks.) I re-fueld with water and gel paks--thank god for those. My cramps began to subside. Miles ten, eleven, twelve, and finally the last--thirteen, was just moments away. I had a second wind. I began passing runners. Folks who had passed me! I was doing great. Then, out of the corner of my eye--a juggler! Yes! A juggler. A half marathon clown man who thought tossing bowling pins in the air during his "jog"would be. . . what? Cute? Entertaining? Neither for me. It was downright a disctraction! I was like, Dude, could you please not juggle near me while I am dying here--you are killing me with that! (I was pretty peeved, truth be told)--but kept moving forward. There were other entetatainment spots along the route: a dancing troupe decked out in black sequins and top hats kicking to New York, New York. A marching band group doing a famous beer company song. (I refuse to type their name here.) The "musical" breaks throughout the route--very nice, most of them. But the juggler, not so much.

Then, there was the final turn heading toward downtown, and I knew the finish was near. I could hear the announcer in the distance. The finish line was in sight now. I was kicking and running and my arms were flying. Pain was not a concern now. I was going to break 2:30--I was not going to not cross that line a minute or second later. I could hear them calling runners in: "Come on so and so--you can do it, break 2:30!" Then, I could hear other feet behind me and to the side of me, racing now, real racing, feet pounding. The onlooker crowds at the finish line makes competing the last two miles totally easy--you feed off their energy and know they really are pulling for you. I kicked, I stretched, I reached, I was at my fastest I could run--and then, heard my name being called, "Come on Kelly, break 2:30, you can do it!" And I did. By mere seconds, but seconds count. I felt GREAT! Race over. Banana station next, then bottled water--two of them because I was literally spent. But I felt terrific!

I came home and celebrated with Mr. Thyme--he was so proud of me. He listened to my story and then, I took a long bath, climbed into bed and was out for a two hour nap. After I woke--and could straighten out my legs--I got up and walked around a bit. I needed kitchen time. I felt refreshed and ready for some cake!

Let me tell you about runners.We are competitors at heart. . . but with ourselves more than anyone else. Our running keeps us sane. My running keeps me sane. Now, onto the next event and a goal to beat my time for the next half marathon I run. I can do it, I know I can. But not for a bit yet, still working on pain management, but the good kind. The kind that proves you can do it.