Flop the Parkway

This past weekend I ran the Rock the Parkway Half Marathon. That's 13.1miles of pure atrocity. Pain. Exhaustion. Fatigue. More pain. I had never actually ran 13 miles...ever. But the weekend prior I ran 11, figuring if I could do 11, then the adrenaline pump of the race would push me the last 2.1. Not so. The adrenaline stopped at about mile, 2. People think that running is physical, saying things like, "Oh I could never do that, I am too out of shape!" But what they fail to realize, is that running is 90% mental and only 10% physical. No. Lie. I fought my head the whole darn tootin' (literally) time. Every now and then I would see a spectator holding a sign that would make me laugh, and it would change the focus of my thoughts, which helped. Here are what some of the signs said:

"Your feet hurt from kicking so much asphalt!"

"Worst parade ever!"

"I thought they said 1.31 miles."

"You've got stamina! Call me! (insert phone number)"

"13.1 only half crazy." -This one actually irritated me, cuz I felt 100% nuts doing it.

"If Romney can run, so can you!" (I have no presidential candidate preference, but it just caught me as funny, you laugh at just about anything when you're delirious)

"Don't POOP!....Out"

That last one about pooping.....let's talk about that. Pooping, that is. People who have never ran, have never experienced the all to common phenomenon of the "runner's trot". What?! Laying cable. Dropping the kids off at the pool. Making a Gomer Pyle. The list goes on. So runner's trot happens when you drink and don't have anything in your tummy tum to absorb the liquid. Thus causing, nearly projectile BM. Jogging along, jogging along...STOP! Clench cheeks. Try not to look like you're clenching. Profusely sweat. Start scoping out bushes, trees, tall grass cuz you might(will) not make it to the next "lay station". Taking inventory on what you can use as TP. Considering asking the hunky cop at the intersection to give you a ride to the nearest toilet. Then, as quickly as it hits you, it passes. You walk a few steps to make sure it is gone, and you start jogging along, jogging along.....STOP AGAIN! It's worse this time...you get the picture. The battle rages until you finally get to the porta-potty and you can...yeah. This happened to me at mile 8. Awful. Awful. Awful. This was after I had seriously considered sitting down in the middle of the road and quitting. Imagine a small child throwing a temper tantrum. That was almost me.

Then, the last hill. I can't feel my legs at this point, and Kesha is about to drive me crazy. So I take my ear buds out. The sounds of feet hitting the pavement, the deep breathing of the people around me, the cheers on the sidelines. How a race horse must feel at the Kentucky Derby. People keep saying you're almost there. I can see the finish line. It seems like it's not getting any closer, even though I have begun to run faster. Finally...finally I cross. *crowd goes wild* My amazing Mom not far behind. *the crowd goes wilder*

At first I was thinking, "I am NOT doing that again!" But, the further I get from race day, the more appealing it sounds. Why? Because I like to see how far I can push myself. Will I run a marathon? No, I'm only half crazy.