I had never run a half-marathon before. My splits on some of my marathons have been under two hours, so I thought I might do a half under 2:00:00.
Facebook friends are often talking about noticing a race in an area, and just signing up for it. In the spirit of camaraderie, I began surfing the internet. I knew I had a day off in lovely Chattanooga. Cindy and I were to be recognized for driving two million safe miles on Saturday, so Sunday was free. As it turned out, the meeting was great, a group of us toured the corporate headquarters, and met a bunch of people that previously were only voices on a telephone line. I found a few races, including a trail race in a wildlife area just across the interstate from US Xpress.
One of the guys in Customer Service is a runner, and I talked him into going to the race also. Adam opted for the 10K, instead of the Half. He let me know that racing on trails was likely to cost me about one to two minutes per mile compared to my road-racing times. He was right. I finished in 2:14:57.
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| Finish line smile? Or finish line grimace? |
Adam met me in the dark morning of the race at the sign-up desk. You don't know until you try it, but it is hard to recognize people in the dark woods, wearing headlamps. As the sun came up, we were on our way. For the first 10K, much of the race was on a wider trail. Adam is a talented runner, and we did not stay together very long. I saw him crest a hill, turn right between two trees, and have never seen him since. (Don't worry, he is not missing. I spoke to him on the phone, and no one else took over his job.)
After the 10K mark, we went onto a single track trail. At first, I had most people passing me. "On your left." is the magical words to pass someone. I was glad I learned it early. I maintained my same pace, got into a great rhythm, and started putting up negative splits. I was a little worried that I might have been pushing it too hard, especially when I started passing many of the people who had passed me earlier. "On your left." "On your left." I kept saying. One guy told me his legs were "crazy heavy." I expressed my concern that I was going out too fast. He said I looked great, and we were on our way in, not out.
About mile eight, I had the thought that I had not stumbled on the root-and-rock infested trail. About 300 feet later... Yeah. Not even a fall though, I caught myself on the way down and kept striding. Another mile or so and I had the thought, "Wow, only one stumble, and I did not hit the ground!" About 600 feet later... Again, yeah. A granite outcropping gave me a nice scrape on my shoulder, forearm, and knee as I did a parachute landing fall to avoid twisting my ankle. A guy at the finish line later said "Welcome to trail running." I responded, "No blood, no glory." He seemed to like the exchange. So did I.
I had never fallen during a marathon road race. But then again, I had never seen deer on the course, nor felt the Zen of letting my feet find the next spot to land on their own, nor come away with such a big smile on my face. It was a great day.
