I realized somewhere around mile 10 of my half-marathon today why the iPod was invented. No, it wasn't so listeners could have their entire CD collections at their fingertips. It was so runners coming down off a hilly course and flagging with three miles to go wouldn't get that perennial classic, "Running on Empty," stuck in their heads.
Man, I missed my iPod.
I had heard headphones were allowed at Mercedes, but when I checked over my race instructions last night, I found otherwise. Reluctant to leave my Queen at home but unwilling to risk having my iPod confiscated, I left it behind this morning and decided to run my first distance race without music. Considering the last time I ran anything without music was ninth grade, this development only made my stomach knot more tightly.
I'm going to be honest, I was nervous going into this race today. Prior to this morning, I'd hit the half-marathon point exactly once, and that was a) on a flat course, b) in December, and c) before I was out for the better part of a month with an injury. Suffice it to say I was feeling under-trained already - hey, I've really only been running since October - and rumors were circulating about the course. Mercedes is a Boston qualifier, and they make you work for it. Birmingham's anything but flat, though you wouldn't know this from the Vulcan 10K, which has only one decent hill. The Mercedes course, on the other hand, is bitchy. The city's fine, but around the fourth mile, you hit the bottom of Greensprings, which is a solid uphill mile. Following that ordeal (the band at the top helps you on), you hit Valley, which undulates, and then the road descends (briefly) into English Village. Once in the Village, you head for the hill and start making the trek back into Birmingham proper. By mile 9, the worst of the hills are behind you, but that's small consolation when you're running on empty.
Undaunted (and blissfully unaware of exactly how demanding the course is), I was dropped off downtown at 6:15, bib pinned in place and chip strapped to my shoe, and spent most of the following 45 minutes waiting in bathroom lines. When better than 3,000 people are racing, there are long bathroom lines, especially for the women. We just can't be rushed. While waiting, I happened to notice that at least a quarter of the people around me had earbuds and iPods, and thought unkind things about reading the race rules. Slipping out of the waiting area just before 7, I entered the chute between the 9- and 10-minute mile groups, and waited for the 7:03 (don't ask) gun.
The first few miles were largely flat, and everyone seemed to be doing well, even the asses who had been smoking stogies in the chute before we started. Several people laughed when we came upon the first portalets and found racers lined up outside, but the biggest shock of the morning, at least for me, was looking down and seeing that the ex-Marine-type beside me was running barefoot. Some people just feel that need to be a little more hard-core than everyone else, I guess.
We left town, heading for Greensprings, and then the yells started - "Man, I love this hill! Yay, Greensprings!" - which were most definitely facetious. I didn't allow myself to walk on that hill - we were only four miles in, after all - but I was a bit shaky at the top, and midway down Valley, I gave up and walked for a few minutes. This pattern continued for most of the remaining hill course, running as far as possible and then walking to recover, but I wasn't the only one who hit the steep English Village hill, looked up, and said, "Ah, screw it, I'm taking my sweet time on this one."
To keep us from collapsing, refreshment stands had been set up at nearly every mile, and the small army of volunteers was busy handing out water, Powerade, gels, and bits of fruit as we passed. I became fond of those stands very quickly, and so when I saw one on the south side of Birmingham, I picked up the pace, hoping for another drink. Then I got close enough to hear them, and realized this stand was passing out Twinkies and beer. Something tells me it wasn't an official stop on the route.
Finally, wet, cold, and more than a little crusty, I crossed, got my medal and finisher's shirt, picked up a banana and couple of Powerades, wrapped myself in glorified aluminum foil to stay warm, and met my mother and Sarah, who had come down to watch me finish. It took me two hours, 12 minutes and change from the gun start to finish - the chip results aren't up yet - but by the gun time, I was the 493rd woman to cross. I'm not winning cash any time soon, but I finished respectably, and that was the goal in the first place - just finishing.
I changed clothes, hit the after-party, and discovered, once again, that I don't do well with food after a long run, no matter how good the barbeque sandwich tastes going down. Skipping the Michelob and the massages, I called my poor mother, who made her third 20-mile round-trip to Birmingham today, and went home before I could be sick or pass out. Once back at the house, Mom gave me a most welcome massage, and then I curled up on my bed, slightly sweaty clothes be damned, and didn't move for two hours.
It's 9 PM, and I'm going to bed. Something tells me I'm going to be a bit on the stiff side at 6:30 tomorrow morning, but there's no time for that - it's Brahms week.
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