Reflections of a Half-Marathon Runner

Panting. 
Sweat.
Cold, blue-ish, tingly fingers.
Ladies with neon pink workout pants, dancing before my blurred eyes like a crazed puppet show.
Gatorade. SO MUCH GATORADE.
... Which circle of Hell is this? 
Maybe it's Paradise. I mean, I like running...
I will never survive this. 
I have to survive this.
Horse-trailers? I think it's going to hit me... Hey, I'd have to stop running.
Am I still breathing?

... But hold on, let me back up. 

"Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Rabbit, your ears are mighty long..." 

5:15AM, Saturday morning, May 4th, my alarm went off. I am accustomed to Bill Staines rousing me from my slumber in this fashion, but this morning it did not vibe "cheery" as it had in the past. 
It was raining. 
But not only was it raining, but I was gonna be running down River Valley road in Todd in about two hours... Running for 13.1 miles. 
Running until I died. 
(May I remind you it was not a Monday morning, not a Thursday morning, but a Saturday morning. And did I mention that it was 5:15AM? AM? But I digress.)

New contacts. I put them in and realized that life isn't so bleak after all. Or at least it wasn't as foggy as I thought it was. 
Cereal. Banana. English muffin. 
The day before I had "carbo-loaded" on potatoes and bread and pasta and pretty much everything you're not supposed to eat on any kind of virtuous diet. But my only aspiring diet is the 5 Guys diet, so I plugged along. I wasn't that hungry, but I ate anyway. 

Samaritan's Purse Team shirt. Cool. It's dark blue and makes me feel totally legit. I feel like a Team member... like I'm running for something... like I can find other SP Team people in the race and we'll instantly be best friends. (Little did I know how crabby people get around 13.1 miles. Or euphoric, depending on their morale, and digestive systems.) 

Tried to buy cool new tunes to spur me onward, but the iPod went bust, so I scarfed down my muffin in disgust and disdain and discovered I didn't need an iPod to make me happy. I found strength within. (Not really, I was just too blurry-brained to care.)

Blackburns picked me up. Why is everybody eating bagels? Is that like every runner's go-to carb? Like Swim Team's "breakfast for champions"? I avoided proclamation of my humble English muffin and squelched in between Anna and Jo-Jo. Pastor Blackburn asks me if I'm ready to run 13. 1 miles. What is a mile, in metric form? I need to know. My brain skipped a couple notes in the harmony of intelligence, and asked him what he meant. He just chuckled and said "Well, let's get going," and I tried to remember the most efficient way to tie shoes. 

By the time we arrived my brain had started kicking into gear. Probably the cold. My teeth were blue and my fingers were chattering. Bluegrass band is playing "Man of Constant Sorrow". Car pulls up, white paint on the side stares out of the mist: "31.1 OR BUST!" 
Okay. This might actually work out to be semi-cool. 

I look around abstractly for a porta-john, mayhaps a cluster of porta-johns.
PORTA-JOHN CITY! There were at least 30 lining the field, and in front of EVERY SINGLE ONE there were at least 3 dozen people jittering around awkwardly waiting for their turn. 
Mind. Blown.
I had one of those weird out-of-body revelations like when I first saw those huge big screens in New York City, or had to wait in line for 1 hour just for a restaurant. Look at that hick, hasn't ever seen lines that big for a porta-john. That hick is you, and you need to go, and you have 10 minutes, so join the party. 
Found a promising line (only about 16 people) and chatted aimlessly with some cute babes in cute athletic suits with cute iPods and cute southern accents. 
The very last adjective I felt pertained to my soul and body in twain in that moment had to be "cute".

Suddenly, out of the mist... Anne Barbee. 
And ladies and gentlemen, THAT was when I decided I was gonna run all 13.1 of those blasted miles, and run them like a boss, and nobody was gonna keep me from doing it. I didn't care what I looked like or what team I was on or how many sponsors I had or even if I got to use the bathroom, but I was gonna do my best and I was gonna smoke this thing.
(Anne Barbee and I are great friends, but when I see her at the same race as me I go a little bananas. It might have something to do with the fact that she's a better runner and that be-stirs me to greater heights of running skill.) 

The race began... we ran... My calves ached and I questioned pretty much everything to do with the workings of my physique (Will my abs hold out? Will my calves get worse? Are my arms getting a workout... because that would be stupendous. My thighs are rockin', but what if they shrivel? Am I going to die?) I met a girl whose name I believe was Paige, but I called her "Fleet Foot" because that's what her shirt said on the back, and she called me "Marines" for the same reason (I later removed this jacket to reveal my SP pride beneath). She was a pretty serious Nerd (besides being one of the cute-outfit, athletic types) but she was really nice and laid back and we talked from Mile 3-Mile 8, and then we parted ways amicably, citing irreconcilable differences. (She couldn't run hills, hills were my jam.) 

Actually, my first hill pretty much made my day. All the cute southern neon-pink blondes around me instantly began to complain: "Shut up! A hill? Now really?" And that was when I burst forth. Kicking into speed, I took on that hill like Ol' Red after the blue-tick hound. Made me so happy that I began to sing to myself "All you really need is an open mind, IF IT FIRES YOU UP YA GOTTA LET IT SHINE!" (Blake Shelton, ahem.) 

Mile 8 I had the worst calf cramp in Half-Marathon history, and pretty much hit the dust. I had one of those "Lord, take me now" moments, but then a little old man with a little old fanny pack came along. "You're gonna make it, honey. You're gonna make it!" He seemed a weathered, salty dog type, learned in the arts of running, so I asked him what to do with 2 desperately sore calves on a 13.1 mile run. "Run it off, honey, you just run it off!" The man had spoken, and then he was away, and I thought, "Well heck, I'm not gonna let a little old man with a fanny pack beat me," and I pressed on. 

Passed a 90-something year old woman with the cutest little neon blue outfit (why are all those outfits NEON? and cute) but she was blaring some kinda crazy scream-o through her iPod buds. Kind of scary. Then there was the chubby little woman, panting and huffing and blabbing about how she couldn't go one more mile and she was just gonna break down and cry, and then she ran like a boss and complained of being slow.

I began to go a little insane around mile 9... 
Waffles. I smell waffles. This is driving me crazy.
Why do they call them waffles? That doesn't make any sense.
Are those dudes burning their house down? That actually seems like a pretty efficient thing to do. I mean, they don't want it. 
I could buy it! No, what the heck would I do with a house?
I could keep grape vines. 
GATORADE!!! I want gatorade!
Gatorade doesn't make sense either.
What is life if things can't make sense? I am so frustrated over this!!!
My toes are growing. 
I think I just swallowed my tongue. Oh, no I didn't, it's still there. I think, anyway.
What's with all these horse-trailers? 
I don't even like horses.
Do horses have blue eyes?
I think if I had worn pink I would've gone faster.
Do I have to go to the bathroom? I forgot what that feels like. 
Am I sweating, or am I just happy?
Happy? I think I need some detergent.
If I bite my lip it will look like I'm wearing lipstick.
I forgot how to bite my lip.
I AM SO HUNGRY!!! 
Somebody just coughed. Will I cough too? Do I know how to cough? 
I think my knees are growing into my toes.
I seriously need to cry, but I think I'm dehydrated. 
I AM SUPER PUMPED!!! 
What if this whole thing is a scam? What if I am running the Marathon by accident? 
If I died in Todd, would I have to get buried here? 
I am so totally running a Marathon next year.
Wow! I'm turning twenty-three next year! No... I'm not. I don't even care, I just like cake. 
Why do people have cake? 
This woman is trying to block me!!! 
If my life was a song, it would be called "Run Don't Walk, Baby". It would DEFINITELY be a country song. 
I feel like a baby right now. I can't feel my elbows. 
LAST MILE!!! I wish I had rocket launchers. 
I feel like a storm trooper. 
I AM A STORM TROOPER.

Finished the race. Daddy was there to see me finish. Ate many a banana and bagel (breakfast for champions!!!) and got home as soon as could be, stopping by FM to say hey to the mobs. Felt like a boss, but could barely walk. 

I RAN A HALF-MARATHON!!! and lived to tell the tale.