For the Love of Running: Flying Pig 2011

It was just a little after 10 p.m. on Saturday when I took a glance over everything before going to bed. Bag? Packed. Clothes? Laid out. Breakfast? Decided. Alarm? Set. Legs? Feeling twitchy and ready to run.

I was ready. Ready to take on Cincinnati's Flying Pig Half Marathon in the morning. And as I looked at everything laid out, I realized I was excited. This was the first time in a very long time that I was this prepared for a race. In the past few years I've gotten use to throwing a few items in my gym bag, grabbing my shoes and a banana and heading out the door for a race, without a care in the world as to whether I forgot my watch or how I was feeling that morning. Racing, these past three years, has been a recreational thing to me. I raced simply because I could and it was always something I had done. I did it just to do it.

But on May 1, 2011, at 6:30 a.m., that wasn't the case.

I woke up at 4:30 a.m., confused as to why my alarm was going off. Then it hit me: You have a half-marathon today. I let myself drift off for ten more minutes before I bounced out of bed and started getting ready.

My parents decided to come down to the marathon so they offered to drive. As we rode down the empty highway in the dark hours before sunrise, nerves began to envelope me. I was getting the pre-race jitters. Adrenaline was already beginning to pump through my veins. I realized how badly I wanted to run this thing.

My race started off a bit slow. Due to a bathroom stop I didn't make it to the starting line until after the gun went off. I was in a mix of runners and walkers. The first couple of miles I let the crowd hold me back. I tend to want to take off in the beginning of a race, as I had done the first time I ran the half-marathon back in 2009, and it ends up hurting me in the end. I was determined not to let the same thing happen.

Not even three miles into the race, just as I had crossed into Kentucky a flash of lightning lit up the sky. I looked up at the clouds and thought, "No storm. You are not ruining this race for me." Fortunately there was only more flash of lightning about a mile and half later and that was it.

Miles passed and I felt good. I pushed the pace. I struggled on the hills. I got a stitch cramp around mile seven and had to slow down, steady my breathing, and relax my posture in hopes of getting rid of it. It helped and a mile later I continued pushing on.

It was around mile nine when a little epiphany struck me. It had been raining the whole time and I was soaked. My feet were rubbing against my shoes and I could feel blisters developing. The side stitch kept coming back and fading. I wasn't feeling my absolute best, but in that moment I distinctly remember thinking, "I love this."

The last three miles of the half-marathon are all down hill. I was getting tired. I had passed mile 11 and was desperately searching for mile 12. I never saw it. We ran around a bend and I knew the end was near. Someone in the crowd said there was only a quarter-mile left. I tried kicking, but the stitch came back. I've never had a stitch at the end of the race, but let me tell you, when you get one and you try kicking, it's hard. Really hard. My form was out of whack as I tried to fight through the pain. I made it through the finish line and started to walk it all off.

I was sure I had done better than I did back in 2009. In 2009 I did not train. AT ALL. I showed up on race day and simply ran it. I struggled through the last half of the race and felt like shit at the end. In 2009 I stopped to use the bathroom halfway through the race, which lost me a few seconds. Plus back then I weighed 10 pounds more. Surely, I thought, I did better than then.

I was wrong.

As I saw my official time on the website my elated feelings about the race left me. My time in 2009 was 1:56. My time this year? 2:01. I didn't even break 2 hours.

I was furious. How did this happen? I knew my training wasn't perfect, but I did train. I thought I had a fairly smart race plan. And unlike 2009 I felt good throughout the race.

But numbers don't lie. And my number was not below 1:56. It was five minutes above it, never dipping below a 9 minute pace. I was crushed.

I sulked for a few hours after that. But as I made the two-hour drive back to Muncie I started thinking about it and I realized how ridiculous I was being.

Runners tend to put success in terms of numbers. For a lot of people, like myself, it's the time. Hitting a certain pace or setting a new PR. For others it's about place; where you placed in your age group or in the race. For those who run for the health benefits, it may be a specific weight or waist-size. Everyone seems to have a certain number they're trying to hit.

When I didn't hit my number, I felt like a failure. Those 13.1 miles seemed like a waste. All the enthusiasm I felt over the weekend was gone. I was angry, and all I wanted to do was start training for a new half-marathon so I could redeem myself. I wanted to forget about the Flying Pig 2011.

But on my drive back, I realized my initial reaction was wrong. This weekend was actually a success. And I was letting a number ruin it.

The race was a success for several reasons. It was a success because I enjoyed every painful second of it. It was a success because I remembered what it was like to get so pumped over a race. It was a success because I realized I still do enjoy racing. My reaction to my time was a success; I still care about how I do.

This weekend I found the competitive girl in me I have been searching for since cross-country of 2007. I don't know how or why, but the apathetic runner in me died this weekend. The past three years of not caring about races or training or how I performed seemed to have finally come to an end. I don't regret those three years; I needed them. I needed a break from caring about running - in high school I cared about it too much. I needed to find a love in running that was independent and solely for myself. I needed to rediscover and confirm my love for running. Those three years took care of that.

As for the time? Well, I thought about it and I realized that even though I didn't train in 2009, I was still in better shape. I finished my final track season in 2008 and had been consistently running with my run club in the fall. So even though that spring I barely ran, my body was still lingering in my high school running shape. Three years of inconsistently running threw my shape off.

And now I have motivation. I want to do better. I want to break that 1:56 PR. I want to redeem myself from this past race. It's only the first day after my half-marathon and I am itchy to pick a new race and start training for it. Pushing myself, going outside of my comfort zone, and competing are all calling my name. I can't wait to answer them.

But in the end, I don't run for time. I don't run to beat someone or to prove anything to anyone but myself. I run because I love it. And I am thrilled that my love for racing has returned.