Last Sunday, I ran (walked and jogged, actually) my first half marathon in Monterey. My first formal athletic “competition” since high school, and my first distance race since sixth grade. My daughters Lara and Emma, my sister Meri and one of her daughters Sara, and my good friend Roger joined me. And I had 2 hours and 57 minutes to think about what doing the same half marathon that Sami completed before her cancer diagnosis in 2022 meant to me. At least when we weren’t talking or I wasn’t complaining about how much my legs hurt over the last four miles, I had time to think! And I’ve been thinking about it ever since we crossed the finish line. Not sure any of this will be of interest to anyone but me, but here’s what completing a 13.1 mile “race” means to me (at least from the vantage point of two days after).
First, I realized that I am more dedicated to my fitness when I have a goal. We registered for the race in May, and I started training (mostly by walking 5-6 days a week) just before Memorial Day. I knew that I needed to average 16-minute-miles to finish in 3 hours and 30 minutes (the course limit); I also knew that when I was in decent shape, I would be able to walk a bit faster than that (despite my very short legs!). I also realized that my personality is such that keeping track of my progress (yes, I actually made a spreadsheet) was critical to maintaining my dedication. From the day I started formally training on May 26 through the end of race day on November 9, I walked 808 miles (both in training and in day-to-day life).
Second, I learned what probably every other runner already knows - that training on hills at some elevation (my house is at 2,600 feet above sea level) makes jogging (I can’t say that I actually ever ran on Sunday) at sea level on a reasonable level course much easier cardiovascularly. Even though we jogged roughly half the race, I never really felt winded.
But walking the hills around my house (even walking distances up to 9 or 10 miles) didn’t prepare my leg muscles and joints for 13.1 miles of walking/slogging (what my sister calls the slow jog we adopted as our “faster” pace). By the time we’d covered 9 miles, my hips were complaining. At mile 10, my quads, knees, and ankles joined them. The last mile was the most difficult - Roger videotaped me crossing the finish line from behind, and I was waddling like a duck!
But I finished. We all did.
Sunday evening, after we’d taken a dip in the cold Pacific (which helped relieve my soreness), I felt an odd sense of pride in finishing and sadness that the thing I’d worked all summer to complete was over. Strangely, I experienced a similar feeling after Sami’s passing - profound sadness, mostly, but a sense of accomplishment that we had been able to care for her until the end, and a sense of relief that her suffering was over. I trained for 167 days. 197 days passed between Sami’s first surgery and her death. The first trial was far more difficult and far less satisfying to complete, but the mix of emotions was similar (if less intense).
And finishing (like caring for Sami) was a group effort. Emma and Lara finished ahead of me; Meri and Roger finished with me. Sara finished the course, too - even though the race had ended. My brother-in-law Adrian walked the last 5 miles or so with her. And Sami’s sister Suzi, as well as my other niece and her family (Hanna and Wyatt, and Ada, Arlo and Boone), cheered us on.
During the race, I was struck how the slower group that we were with became a community during the 13.1 miles. We’d pass people slogging; they’d pass us again when we walked. We’d cheer each other on. We’d clap for the friends and families holding signs of encouragement or playing music to keep our spirits up. Roger and Meri encouraged and supported me when I began to fade in the last third of the race. Several miles into the race, we caught up to the two women who were pacing the runners at 3 hours (a 13:45-minute-mile) - they wore mitres, which we all laughed about! We’d be within 100 yards of them for the rest of the race. We joked and talked with them every time we caught them - and every time they caught us. And with their help, we crossed the finish line in 2 hours 57 minutes and 17 seconds - considerably faster than I’d expected.
This support system made me wonder about Sami’s experience during the half marathons she ran (three of them, including Monterey Bay twice). She was in far better shape than I am now, and she was also more competitive by nature. I’m sure she visited with the runners around her, but she didn’t have friends and family by her side for the entire race. I’m not sure I’d be mentally tough enough to do what she did.
This morning, even though my thighs are still a bit sore, I’m excited to keep training. I proved to myself that I slog for greater distances than I thought possible. I learned that having a goal is important to keeping myself fit. I want to continue to find time in every day to exercise - and I want to add strength and flexibility training to my routine. And I want to run another race - I’m shooting for the Old Mill Run in Columbia on my 59th birthday next spring. And I hope to do the Monterey Bay Half Marathon again.
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