For starters, I ended up not running at all the week of the race. It just didn't happen, don't judge. I wasn't sure if it would help me or hurt me, but there was no going back so I was stuck in my position.
We left on Friday afternoon with two of our pals and started the 9-10 hour drive to the Big Easy. It was a long drive, but with good company it was bearable. We passed the time listening to Disney music, talking and laughing, and those bastards watched a movie while I was stuck driving. We finally arrived at our hotel at around 2:30AM. We were hungry and restless. So some food and beer was acquired and we each had one or two. And... I am not proud of this... but I ate Taco Bell for the first (and last) time. Oh, the things you'll eat when hungry. With stomachs full of crap food and Sam Adams, we finally fell asleep around 4:30AM.
I awoke first the next morning. Not surprising since I had a lot of anxiety about something going wrong on the trip. Waking up too late and missing the expo, leaving too late on race day and getting stuck in traffic and missing it... you name it I was probably worried about it. It was my first race, give me a break! After a little printing fiasco with Roommate's confirmation page, we finally made it to the expo and got our swag bag, bibs, shirts, and all of that good stuff. I really like the shirt, and I'm so glad it is made of a workout fabric and not cotton!
We didn't spend much time at the expo, seeing as it was already 3PM and we hadn't eaten yet. This, my friends, is where the trouble started. We went to grab lunch and we had some beers with it. Well, no food and minimal sleep combined with two beers apparently has significant effects on us. After lunch, we were going to walk around the French Quarter, and of course, we found another bar to go to. We played a few games of pool and had a few more beers. When we left there, we walked to the water for the view and then our plan was to head back to the car. Somehow we ended up on Bourbon street. You can guess what ensued. Now, I know this probably wasn't the best idea before a big race, but (as I kept saying during the race "NO REGRETS") I wasn't too worried. I mean, we were in New Orleans for less than 48 hours, it was still early (we were back at the hotel by 7 or 8PM), and I've done many a long run after a few drink the previous night. Had I truly been racing, I would have opted out of the drinks, but I just wanted to finish in no particular time and I knew that I could complete my goal. So pass that drink over this way!
Now, not only did we drink, but then we ordered pizza and I ate probably five slices. Now that, I regret slightly. Because what goes in must come out, and it didn't want to come out before the race so I raced with intestines full of pizza. It made for some slight discomfort near the end...
But okay, let's get into the actual reason for this post: the race. We woke up (probably too) early on race day and got there (probably too) early. We wandered around, got some water, and used the port-o-potties. Finally we started to line up in our corral, which was one of the last ones! We are some slow mutha fuckas. Granted, we did finish 30 minutes before our estimated corral time. It took about forty minutes for all the waves to pass before it was our turn. And off we went!
This run was fun. It was gorgeous outside, the music made me smile, and the excitement of the crowd definitely rubbed off on me. The route took us all around the city, which is so vibrant and beautiful. Up until mile ten was a breeze, which is pretty surprising. There were supporters lining the streets, many of which were cancer survivors. I saw a woman pushing who I assumed was a family member in a wheelchair for the first few miles. It was really amazing. As for Roommate and I, we just talked and laughed and ran and drank water and Gatorade and ate pocket bagel. The bands were pumping us up and we counted high fives.
After sailing through the first nine and a half miles with zero problems, fatigue began to set in. I was tired, my legs hurt, and I could feel a blister forming on my foot. But what do you do in those situations? You fucking march on.
Mile eleven was when the pizza was ready to come out. But I clenched and kept running. I know, I know, probably more than you needed to know. But I've got no shame so deal with it. This happened sporadically (thanks, Clueless!) until the end of the race. The last mile was the real bitch. It felt like it dragged on and on and on. Especially when we got to the park and I was so sure we were done, but we still had half a mile. So on we ran.
Let me tell you, when I saw that finish line, it was the most beautiful thing I could have seen. So we kicked it up a notch and we were finished! We were half marathoners! Our finish time was 2:33:50, setting us at an 11:44 min/mile pace. My tentative goal had been 2:30, but this was definitely close enough for me to be happy. Especially because we ran the entire thing, no walk breaks at all. Plus, we had gone out on the town the night before. It all ended up working out great in the end.
We got our medals and photos taken, and got all sorts of treats to refuel our bodies. Bananas, protein bars, chocolate milk, Gatorade, water. I felt like ass. I forced some food down, fighting nausea, and we walked around and tried to loosen our tight legs up. Somehow, Roommate didn't feel as bad as I did. I spent four months training for this race, he squished most of his training into the last two weeks and ended up with an easier aftermath. That's life for you!
After grabbing jazz brunch (yes, it was as awesome as it sounds) at an amazing cafe, we hit the road. Folks, I do not recommend sitting in a car for nine hours after running 13 miles. It hurts, to say the least. I'm still hurting today, but I'm sure it's nothing a week of rest won't fix up. Overall, the trip was absolutely terrific and I had such a good time. Pictures to come.
I am already planning on running the Rock and Roll San Antonio half marathon in November. I do believe I'm addicted to these things.
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