A good plan helps you go a long way and a lack of one just makes life fun. I was iffy to run one of the best races in the southeast, the Oak Barrel Half Marathon in beautiful Lynchburg, Tenn. until the night before. A last minute illness allowed me to get excused from a family camping event and run this fabulous event. As a result, I had no race plan in place (and for you non-runners, this is akin to walking down the halls of your high school naked!). In fact, I couldn't even remember what my time was on my last half or any half for that matter! I had no partner to run with and I barely remembered to pack my watch.
My memories from the year before were of a hilly, hot, smelly course that ended with one heck of an after race party. This year's race lived up to those memories and then some.
We (and when I say we I mean the three amigos -- me, Patti Murray Holmes and Clay Self plus our newest amigo, David Bier) met at the butt crack of dawn...actually before dawn in a Starbucks' parking lot and consolidated into one vehicle. This was a cruel joke to me as the store was closed and I had no way to get one of my beloved Starbucks' grande, skinny hot chocolates. However, the Dunkin Donuts was open and I was able to get a much needed, multigrain bagel to power me through the first few miles. I chased this with a banana and a full bottle of water.
After a one hour drive, we arrived at the race site, a rustic venue and home to the Jack Daniel Distillery. Clay was quiet and focused on the ride up (this was his first major race and he was feeling a little nervous), David (a humble, elite running veteran), Patti (my running manager and weekend running partner) and I filled the silence with bad singing and arguments about favorite musicians. This is only important because remembering the bad singing is what got me up the infamous Whiskey Hill!
We picked up our registration packets and after putting on my jacket and whining about the cold, I preceded on to my pre-race ritual of making friends in the port-a-pottie line. By the time the race was set to begin, the four amigos became one as I lost all three of them at the start line and found myself alone and a little nervous--and then I heard the sweet sound of Robin Giles, a fellow We Run member and a familiar voice in a sea of strange runners, and I knew I would be all right.
I started out fast and furious as I always do. I hate the first, two minute race crush and will run as fast as I can to get out of it. I immediately felt myself cramping (probably from the amount of food I ate on the way up), but fought through the cramps (there is no quitting in running). Soon after mile one, I saw two men drop their shorts in the field and by-pass the use of port-a-potties conveniently placed at all the aid stations. I must admit to a little envy at their lack of modesty and their ability to do that any where, any time.
I thought I was averaging a pretty good pace and was enjoying the beautiful scenery and country smells (if only the pictures that were taken were scratch and sniff). I passed Patti who was helping pace another runner reach his goal and several other runners I knew. I was feeling quite frisky and refused to let the sweet smell of cow/horse manure impede my breathing. I was even able to smile for Gregg Gelmis, our designated race photographer. And then I hit the beginning of Whiskey Hill, a steep 1.2 mile mountain climb.
"I think I can, I think I can," I kept muttering to myself and yelling to the other runners beside, behind and in front of me. I cannot tell a lie. I did walk parts of it (just to get a sip of water, yeah, that's why), but when I saw Gregg again with his camera pointed straight at me, I put my butt in gear and started running the rest of the way. Amazingly, my cramps completely disappeared when I got to the top.
Now, I remembered that the race was all down hill from there. I remembered wrong. As I was waiting in line for the potty prior to the race, one woman mentioned "Oh Crap" Hill. "Huh? I don't remember that from last year," I said. She replied that I would know it when I got to it and I did. I thought to myself, "oh, crap" as I saw the steep incline and laughed when I remembered its name. I hit it faster and more determined and was racing pretty good and consistent because after Whiskey Hill, what's one more steep incline?
When I finally hit the true downhill portion of the course, I felt great, but ran out of water and had to stop to refill at one of the many aid stations along the course which cost me about a minute, but I was dangerously low on fluids and having made that mistake once before I was not about to repeat it.
I made a few friends along the way and listened to two ladies cackle about a fellow runner's McKay Hollow Race Report and they wondered out loud if he really did try to do relieve himself while running as he said he did. We all agreed that yes, knowing this runner, he probably did (I couldn't stop myself from chiming in).
By the time I hit Mile 12, I was hot, tired and dreading this flat section. I was never happier than when I saw the last left turn to the finish line. The clock was quickly ticking towards 2:00 hours and I was determined to come in under that time. I kicked it in high gear and finished strong...and then remembered I started a minute after the clock began. My finish time was 1:58:36 or so. Faster than last year, but not as fast as I could have finished had I planned better and focused more. I was greeted at the finish line by one of the amigos and never happier to see his smiling face. We quickly turned to in time to see the third amigo cross the finish line (the fourth had long since crossed and gone to clean-up). She was tired, but glowing after having a fabulous second half race.
The after race celebration was by far the best I have ever been to including the Marine Corps and Chicago Marathons and even better than I remembered. We picnicked with our We Run friends and I enjoyed listening to everyone's race journey because at the end of the day the race is about the stories and the runners we passed along the way!
