On Sunday, February 22nd, 2015 I ran my first half-marathon.
It wasn’t, overall, the most spectacular race that a person ever ran. In fact, on February 23rd I probably would not have called this a highlight of my life at all.
It began well. The first half of the race was the greatest 7 miles of my life. I was running, I was flying, Disney magic was in full effect. I don’t know what the best part was—rounding the corner into Magic Kingdom to find upwards of 30 taiko drummers (my faves), or running up Main Street surrounded by cheering crowds, or running through Cinderella’s castle. Pure magic.
It was the final 6 miles that did me in. I hit a wall around Frontierland, and I ran-walked (mostly walked) the second half of the course back to EPCOT. No lie, I spent that entire 6 miles debating whether I was A) never going to run another half marathon ever again or B) so mad at my performance that I would obviously be running another half marathon so I could do better. It was a terrible 6 miles, mentally and physically.
But I finished. I finished a half marathon. That’s 13.1 miles that nobody will ever be able to take away.
After the Race
It makes me sad to admit this, but I basically stopped running after the Disney Princess Half Marathon.
It was a massive achievement, but it hurt, and I let my recovery time extend, and extend, and extend. I have gone for a few short runs over the course of the year, but not more than 1.5 miles. It’s really depressing, actually.
The past few weeks I’ve started running more regularly again, and it looks like I’m going to close out 2015 by starting back down the running road. I am out of shape but happy to be running. And I finally have an answer to the dilemma that took up the second half of the race: I am a stubborn person (everyone who knows me is currently going really? YOU?) and I will run another half marathon. I will run stronger, better, and faster than I did this February. I don’t know when—not soon, for sure—but I will do it.
That medal is getting lonely.