Half Crazy

Endorphins are addictive. And sometimes, under the influence of an addictive substance, one is prone to doing something crazy.

Who, me?

In the immortal words of Peter Griffin, "GUILLLTYYYYYYYYYY!!!"

Between last season's excruciatingly frustrating proximal hamstring injury and the carpal tunnel surgery and recovery of the last two months, great running days have been few and far between. Having road races and triathlons on my schedule help me focus on training and make exercise seem less like drudgery. I also enjoy the time outside with my thoughts, maybe some tunes on my iPod, and nature. I'm not big on the "social" aspect of running or cycling, with the exception of road races and triathlons. (And in those situations, I'm really only "social" before and after the race. Aside from occasional comments to lighten the mood or encourage another runner or give a grateful shout out to a race volunteer or public safety officer, I really don't talk much during the race. I'm usually too busy with my endless internal dialogue.) I get annoyed rather easily at the gym when two people decide to exercise side-by-side near me and insist on talking VERY LOUDLY, even though they're at most three feet away from each other. This is why I sincerely believe that the iPod is the Greatest Invention of All Time. Yup, way more important that the Polio vaccine or the internal combustion engine or All-Clad Stainless Steel cookware. (OK, maybe not more important than All-Clad.) Basically, my point (and I do have one) is that I get frustrated quite easily and need my endorphin fix as often as possible to alleviate stress and frustration.

So earlier this week, on Mardi Gras, as it turns out, I decided to laissez les bon temps roulez and just go out and run and see what my legs had in them. The result was a Truly Great Run. It wasn't all that long (for most runners) and its speed was more easily measured with a sundial than a stopwatch, but the fact is that I ran 3.25 miles (a 2.25-mile run and a one-mile run, separated by a third of a mile of walking) for the first time in what feels like forever. 

Yeah, it's winter...but we've had (knock wood) a much milder (and less snowy) winter here in Upstate New York this year than we typically do. Yeah, I'm also coming back from surgery...but it was surgery on my wrists, and my surgeon cleared me for running once the big-ass bandages came off after each surgery. Sometimes I had good runs of relatively short distances (a continuous mile or less at a time), sometimes I had gawd awful runs of complete junk miles. (Yes, I know, even junk miles count.) 

So when I had a Truly Great Run and got the massive endorphin rush and that Wow-I-Can-Do-ANYTHING feeling, I should have known it would lead me to do something a little crazy. Not necessarily something I would regret, but certainly something that would give me pause once the endorphin afterglow subsided.

So what crazy thing did I do?

I registered for my first half marathon.

GULP.

Really, I fully intended for my first half marathon to be the Hollywood Half in 2013. Red carpet, finisher's medal that looks like one of the stars on the Walk of Fame, with a ribbon that looks like film from a reel, plus running friends from New England who were considering it...what's not to love? (Actually, the very first half marathon I considered entering was Cincinnati's Flying Pig. Who wouldn't want to run while wearing a pig snout???)

But I digress. Now, where was I? Oh, that's right: GULP.

I innocently picked up the free New England Runner 2012 Road Race Calendar at my local Fleet Feet Sports (I swear, I only went in to buy socks!), since I've done my share of road races in the Bay State...and what to my wondering eye did appear inside the front cover, but the prospect of a predominantly flat, picturesque (ocean view!) course, a way-kewl surfboard-shaped finisher's medal, and a race date that wasn't until mid-September. Combine all of that with those naughty endorphins...aaaaand here we are: The Surftown Half Marathon near Westerly, RI (not far from the Connecticut border) on September 16th. I registered as soon as I got home from my Truly Great Run. 

When I first came down from my endorphin high, I thought, "Well, I know I can do the training to finish. I'd even thought a time goal of 3:15 would be doable...that would be a 15:00 pace and would allow for walk breaks if (ha! when) I need them. I was a little nervous, but not quite daunted. It would be a huge undertaking for me, but it was not outside the realm of probability.

And then today, while looking at various race logistics (so I could reserve a hotel room not far from the race venue), I saw something I'd missed before: the race has a 3-hour time limit. Three hours to cover 13.1 miles means an average pace of about 13:45. Most runners would have no problem with that pace and would focus exclusively on the overall distance. But since recovering from "Hurricane Hammie," I've struggled to maintain that pace in a 5k...you know, the half marathon with the 10-mile warm-up. Heh heh. On the plus side, the race will include race pacers...and if I have to grab onto the neon-green vest of the 3:00 pace runner and have him/her drag my sorry carcass over the finish line, so be it. Just gimme my bling, baby!

So I've gathered my various resources from Hal Higdon, Jeff Galloway, et al. My training plan will be my own unique version, borrowing from various plans. In other words, the approach that got me to the Freihofer's Run for Women back in 2010.

Dammit, I want my way kewl surfboard-shaped finisher's medal. And the only thing standing in the way between me and that bling is 13.1 miles in three hours or less. (Wow, I almost typed "or less" with a straight face.) Really, though, the bling is just the way kewl memento. It's crossing that finish line, raising my arms in victory and shouting, "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!!!" at completing something I once thought impossible.

Yup. Definitely crazy. 

But only half...