I approach road races the same way I do childbirth: lots of chap-stick, hydration, a good watch, and a motivational playlist on my IPOD. For the Marine Corps Historic Half Marathon, it was no different.
In the spirit of race recaps (this is a link to the last time I ran this race)
Here is My 2011 RACE REVIEW (Mile Markers are Approximate):
Mile 1: I start in the way back so that psychologically I feel fast as I pass everyone.
Mile 3: I feel like I'm in an inverted parade as people on the sidelines cheer, hand out Twizzlers and other goodies, and ring bells.
Mile 4: A seventy year old man in front of me is running without a shirt. I watch his love handles bounce up and down for awhile, contemplating entropy and other deep topics.
Mile 5: People on the sidelines are passing out cups of water with a lime. I pass by them, change my mind, and GO BACK so that I can get a drink. I chug... and realize immediately they are passing out VODKA with a sugar-coated rim.
Mile 7: A man with a long brown pony tail and abnormally large calves is wearing dainty women's sandals. I take one headphone out of my ear and ask, "How's that working for you?" and hope that I don't sound snotty as I pass him.
Mile 8: The shirt in front of me says Pain is temporary-Pride is Forever, and I contemplate whether or not that is true (Forever? Really?), and whether or not pride (regardless of how long it endures) should be the motivation.
Mile 9: A man at the top of the biggest hill in the race is holding a sign that says, "Chuck Norris never ran a half-marathon." I smile, find new inspiration, and tell Chuck Norris jokes to myself the rest of the way up the hill.
Mile 10: Two-ton-calves-sandal-man is ahead of me now and I mentally take a laso, catch him, and reel him in (It's called mental imagery...WHAT?....you've never tried it?). Once he's right in front of me, I pretend like I'm in a wheelchair and he's pulling me (Don't knock it; it works...kind of).
Mile 12: I pass my car and wonder what the ramifications would be if I just hopped in and drove away. I'm mad at myself that I can't sustain an 8 minute mile pace (even in the wheel chair) for the second half of the race.
Mile 13: I have absolutely no reason to sprint to the finish line. No one is waiting for me and no one there cares. I am listening to a song on the IPOD and wondering how it got on my running playlist.
"Jesus, I am resting, resting...in the joy of Who you are..."
It completely does not fit the occasion... but then again....it fits in every way.