The title says it all this time. I started out feeling really good -- ran very well for the first 6 miles or so. Then reality started to settle in. I had trained on what few hills we have around here, but this course had real hills. There was a lot of up and down, more up, I think. I slowed down quite a bit, then I got upset because I was slowing down and it was getting harder... it turned into a vicious cycle. I did a serious amount of walking. My husband ended up running with me the whole way, so he got to listen to me whine and cry and basically throw a temper tantrum about how much I hated racing, hated myself for signing up for this... I really started swearing when it seemed like they hid the finish line as much as possible, so you ran the last half mile with almost no hope. Well, that is if you were running for the whole last half mile. I wasn't. At the end I really didn't care about anything but not running any more.
Yes, it really was that bad.
I never used to understand why I'd see people walking with less than a mile to the finish. Now I understand. They aren't sure they can do anything else.
The good news is that I finished. And, as much as I worried that it would, it didn't take me three hours to finish it. More like 2:40. I haven't looked up my time because I know it stinks. Note: I did look it up and it was even worse than I thought. 2:48:15. All that walking...
But, I finished.
It will be a long time before I sign up for another half, and I will only do a large race like this on unfamiliar terrain if I get a brain hemorrhage and forget how much this stunk.
It's funny, I think two weeks ago I could have had a really good race, on a flat course at least. I got a little cold earlier this week and I don't think I'm totally over it yet.
But I finished.