Because I Sham-rock!

As promised, I ran the Virginia Beach Shamrock Killian's Red Sportfest (a hundred other names) Half Marathon on Sunday morning.

I had to get up at five-thirty AM, which did not feel pretty.

It was great. And hard. I finished in a little under three hours, coming in at about the same time as the man who won the entire marathon (I can't remember his name right now, but he's pretty famous...I might get in some pictures as "Slow Half-Marathon Girl in All Black and Movie Star Sunglasses").

I started the race with the 2:30 pace group, which is really fast for me. Then I had to stop and use the port-a-johns at mile three. As did half of the race. There was a ten minute wait- needless to say, I never saw the 2:30 pacers again. And there were men waiting in front of me. I just wanted to yell at them to 'GO IN THE WOODS!'

A few miles later, I got sick to my stomach. We won't go into that. But I couldn't take any more energy gels, so by the end of the race I was running on...Nothing. Water. And a few sips of Gatorade. THAT was hard. The last three miles especially. It was the only time I really missed having my ipod and the only time I did not enjoy the encouragement from the sidelines. People would wave signs and cheer, "Come on! You're almost there! Only two more miles!" and I would want to yell, "YOU DON'T KNOW! YOU COME OUT HERE AND RUN TWO MILES!"

But I dragged myself to the finish and it FELT GREAT. I am, as I write this, still wearing my medal (pictured above). I just feel like I did this incredible thing. It isn't a life altering experience, but it made me realize how much my life has altered.

Special Shout-outs (though most of these people will never read my blog) go to:
- Everyone who waited at the 3 mile port-a-johns.
- The man dressed as The Scarecrow, who tried to hand me beer instead of water or gatorade and was surprised that I didn't want it.
- The guys standing behind me at the beginning of the race who still hadn't recovered from St. Patrick Day Kegs and Eggs. They veered off into a construction site about three minutes into the race to use a port-a-john they saw there.
- The two army guys who told me they were 'digging' my movie star glasses and that I made it look easy.
- The man with "WILL RUN FOR BEER" on the back of his shirt.
- Boy Scout Troop 79, especially the kid dressed in a huge, air-inflated fat suit, who the boy scouts kept pointing to and saying: "Look. Now you won't end up like this!"
- The half-marathon runner dressed like Uncle Sam.
- Also the marathon runner in the pink afro wig. I wonder how long that stayed on?
- All the citizens of VA Beach who stood on the sides of the road and cheered for us- especially all the army guys who kept yelling "MOTIVATION!" at us.
- Everyone from home who sent me good wishes before and after the race.
- My Mom, for schlepping down to VA Beach and driving back while I mostly slept in the passenger seat. And buying pasta dinner for me. And trying to take pictures with my digital camera but mostly just video recording the sand. And being so supportive and wonderful and proud of me.

As Mom and I were walking back to the hotel, she turned to me and said, "So. Which was harder: running a half-marathon or going onstage in just your underwear?"

I thought about it: the brave moments of my life. And it's the half-marathon. After all, going onstage in your underwear is like jumping off a diving board: once you take that first step and make that commitment, there's no going back. You're already out there, in front of everyone, in your underwear. But with a really long run, you can give up at any time. You have to keep recommitting yourself. And that's more difficult.

When we got back to the hotel room, and I peeled off all the grimy layers to hop into the shower, I realized/remembered I was wearing the same underwear that I'd worn onstage.

Obviously, it is the underwear that is brave. Not me.

Peace out, everyone. I'm going to go fondle my medal.