Test Case: Can I Run A Half Marathon Without Training, Music, Or Crying?
As we get older and busier, we stop thinking about what we are capable of and start coming up with excuses.
Allison Peryea, on the run.
I do not have the stereotypical body of a runner. With my sturdy thighs and Kardashian hips, I am shaped more like a medieval wench without the ample bosom. Nonetheless, I don’t think genetics should get in the way of enjoying the benefits and challenges of athletics. That’s one of the reasons I like “the idea” of running: It doesn’t take any special skill or coordination to run—just put one (often reluctant) foot in front of the other. The downside is that running involves… running.
I have done several organized fun runs during the past couple years. (The term “fun” can be loosely translated here to mean “getting up early on a weekend to do something physically exhausting and commemorated by a T-shirt.”) After a 10k run this spring, my best friend Brenna and I discussed signing up for a half marathon, which is 13.1 miles. I supported this idea at the time because I thought it would be one of those things you talk about but never actually do, like losing weight or dumping a crappy boyfriend.
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Months later, Brenna had signed up for the Leavenworth Half Marathon. I love organized runs, but I don’t really like training for them. I am more of a gym-class rat: I push myself harder when someone is yelling at me. While I had been working out regularly, I hadn’t run more than a mile at a time in about three months.
I signed up for a 15k “test run”—a little more than nine miles—two weeks before the half marathon. I survived it buoyed by Pandora radio’s “Pop Workout Hits” station, which heavily features Maroon 5, a band I now associate with shin splints. My biggest struggle was with my new headphones, which have detachable behind-the-ear pieces that got stuck in my long-sleeve shirt when I tried to ditch them at a water station. (This annoyingly confirmed Brenna’s advice to not try out new gear during a race.)
Having survived the test run, I gave into (positive?) peer pressure and signed up three days before the half marathon. I had to pay double the early bird rate along with the other commitment-phobes.
The day after I signed up, as is to be expected in this train wreck called life, I injured my foot playing soccer. This left me with a single rest day to heal. Shockingly, it was an insufficient amount of time.
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On race day, I was running late due to traffic and not wanting to get out of bed. I agonized over what gear to bring, since my sweaty eyes fog up sunglasses and hats make my head hot. I had bought a running belt with two water bottles attached that looked like some sort of mini rocket-booster, but I left it at home based on Brenna’s stupidly accurate advice. (Of course I saw many booster-equipped runners at the race, cueing my regret.) Some people were wearing costumes like this was supposed to be a laid-back event or something: “Let’s put on superhero capes and run for two hours—it will be awesome!”
Per the race organizers, about 2,000 people were participating in the half marathon. The pre-run line for the portable toilets was about the length of the race. I have a fear of outhouses, but running is best on an empty tank. Of course the one I chose smelled so bad I started dry heaving minutes before the run began. Brenna was more disgusted than sympathetic.
As we gathered at the starting line, we discovered that there were too many people around to get our streaming music apps to work—a devastating rookie realization. A cold wave of panic swept through me like a passenger on a sinking ship discovering the life rafts were left on shore. The idea of running 13 miles to the soundtrack of my own ragged breath and turtle-paced footfalls filled me with a dread I haven’t known since 1L finals week.
The race began, and I spent the first couple miles focused on trying to get my music to work. Periodically it would kick in, providing me with a temporary boost until it devastatingly cut out again. I would try to keep singing the song in my head, but my brain was too tired to remember the beat and lyrics to today’s hits such as “Uptown Funk.” My Runkeeper app also wasn’t working, so I didn’t have the robot lady telling me how far I had gone every five minutes. I was completely alone with my tortured thoughts.
Eventually I was reunited with a tune from good old Adam Levine, which pushed me to catch up with my friends. I also tried to keep moving along by playing a “game” of passing people like I was Princess Peach in Mario Kart. It was also encouraging to see the locals who came out to watch us run by, like we were in a Nike-sponsored parade with no cool floats.
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By Mile 9 or so, some people started walking or stopping to stretch out. I kept chugging along at my sluggish choo-choo pace, determined to run the whole thing. I started to have my doubts though during Miles 10 and 11: We entered a stretch of sandy trail inadvertently designed to break spirits. Then I came upon the Mile 12 marker—just one mile left! This Mile 12 sign was my poster board savior: I have never been happier to ever see anything in my life, including donuts.
Celebrating at the finish line.
A mile later I crossed the finish line, at about the same time my music popped back on again. Some kid gave me a medal and a Kashi granola bar that tasted like sawdust. My oxygen-deprived brain seemed more tired than my body. My friends and I took some commemorative pictures until I discovered the snack tent. While everyone else chatted and stretched, I refueled with about $80 of Costco cookies and bananas. To make sure I got all of my late-entry-fee money’s worth and negated every calorie burned, I also jammed my fanny pack with candy and Rice Krispies treats for later.
After the race we went to a brewery for celebratory drinks, and then I went home and took a three-hour nap. My legs didn’t get super sore, but my back and ribs felt like I had gone a few rounds in the ring with Manny Pacquiao. Turning over in bed was fascinatingly agonizing.
I feel like as we get older and busier, we stop thinking about what we are capable of and start coming up with excuses not to accomplish those things. It turns out it is never convenient to try something new and scary that requires us to risk failure. But now I can look at that participant-medal-slash-beer-bottle-opener (hey, it was an Oktoberfest event) and remember the time I ran 13.1 miles around a Bavarian-themed town propelled by my own two feet and snippets of Taylor Swift songs. It makes me feel like I can do just about anything, so long as I have a backup iPod in my fanny pack. Except a full marathon.
Sometimes you have to draw the line between aspiration and insanity, people.
Allison Peryea is a shareholder attorney at Leahy Fjelstad Peryea, a boutique law firm in downtown Seattle that primarily serves community association clients. Her practice focuses on covenant enforcement and dispute resolution. She is a longtime humor writer with a background in journalism and cat ownership. You can reach her by email at [email protected].
