Just. Keep. Running.

I've been training since early January for a half marathon. 13.1 miles. This particular half marathon is the Indianapolis 500 Festival Mini Marathon. It's sort of a kick-off event for all the events in May that lead up to the Indianapolis 500 at the end of the month. This is my 2nd time doing this half marathon. My first time was in 2010, so it's been 7 years. I'm 7 years older, and I have had 2 more children in that time. My body is different. My pace is different. My stride is different. I've participated in several 5k's in that 7 year time period...probably more than I can remember. 5k's are good because they keep you running. They keep your mind in the space where it needs to be as a runner: always thinking about getting your miles in. My training since January has led me to some pretty strong conclusions about running, and about me as a runner. First, I'm not 30 anymore. I'm 7 years older than I was when I completed my first half, and I can tell. I can also tell that my body has had 2 babies in that 7 years. For me, 2 babies meant 2 additional c-sections, totaling 4. So yeah...things are....a bit out of place. I'm also nearly 50 pounds lighter than I was a year ago, which is awesome...but again, things have shifted. Here's what I know after 3 months of training: So what? Ok, yeah, it's been 7 years. I've had surgeries. I've had babies. My body is not the same. But, so what? Maybe I have to push a little harder. Maybe I have to train a little longer. But, so what? I'm not about excuses. If I want to do a half marathon, I'm going to do it. Even if I have to push it. And I do. I push it every time my feet hit the road. I've got nothing against 5k's. In fact, I quite enjoy them. They are just enough to make me feel accomplished, and they are just enough for me to consider myself a "runner". Plus, you usually get some cool gear when you do a 5k: like a t-shirt or a lanyard, or a water bottle or something. Another conclusion that I've come up with, since beginning training for this half, is this: 5k's are missing something. Well, they are missing the additional 10 miles that the half offers. That's a given. However, they are missing one element that is required of the 13.1 runner: stamina. I'm sure every runner can relate to the subject of stamina. For me, as someone who has been training for a while now, I know when I need my stamina. And it's not at 2 miles. Why? You don't need stamina for 2 miles. You don't even need much stamina for 3.1. Ok, there can be issues for anyone running any distance. Shin splints, joint pain, a torn muscle, to name a few. And those issues are difficult and can ruin a race for a runner. If one can overcome any injury they have had, they still need stamina. Without it, the runner cannot complete the race. Here's what I mean by stamina, for me, as a runner. 2 miles? No problem. I feel amazing. Lungs are wide open. I tell myself that if I can run the entire race feeling like this, I'm golden. Mile 3? Still feeling pretty good. No problems at all. Mile 4? Feeling good. Not as awesome as I was at the beginning of my run, but there are still no problems. You get the idea. I'm good. Until, somewhere between mile 6 and 7, when I feel a sharp pain in my hip flexor. My knees start to feel tight and my shin splints begin to flare up. At mile 8, my lungs begin to hurt; a sure sign that my asthma is kicking in. Between 8 and 9, my feet begin to feel like weights, so every stride becomes difficult. Every time my feet hit the pavement, I have to consciously remember to use my legs to lift them up and put them back down again. By mile 10, my lungs are on fire screaming at me to stop. Stamina. Just. Keep. Running. Between 10 and 11, I'm done. I can't do anymore. My body is yelling at me now, "Just stop Nicole! WTF are you doing? You can't continue. Just stop for a second and walk a bit. Oh! How about you just lay down in that grass that looks so inviting?" Just. Keep. Running. There it is. Right there. My stamina. At 11 my head is tired of being rattled around for the last 2 hours. So, here comes the headache. But I gotta go. I have 2.1 more miles. I seriously need water at this point. And a banana. And a nap. So, yeah, 2 miles is easy...only if you haven't already ran 9 prior to that. Stamina. Just. Keep. Running. I tell my brain to shut up, I turn up my music, and I go. The last mile is Hell. There's no other way to put it. When you're in a race, it's especially difficult because this is where people begin to shut down. You see people hobbling their way to the finish line and you see agony on people's faces. But they go. They just keep running. They use stamina. And they go. Crossing the finish line is amazing, and I look forward to doing it again next month. With 13.1 miles behind me, I know that I will have just beaten my fiercest competitor: myself. I'll watch people tare their shoes off and lay down in the grass to relish in the moment. We, collectively, and individually, will have completed something incredible. Many of my fellow runners will wake up the next morning sore, yet fulfilled, as will I. And we will take a break from running. Though, not for long. Because in spite of ourselves, we must go. We must run. We must lace up, put in our ear buds, and feel the pain of running. That's what it is for me, anyway. I've said I'm a sucker for pain. The pain of the run is addicting for me. With it, I know that I've truly overcome myself. Without it, running would be easy, and I'm not interested in easy. Ron Hill, the first British runner to win the Boston Marathon stated in 1970, "Get going. Get up and walk if you have to, but finish the damned race." I will, Ron. I will.