I have a very competitive family. I’ve mentioned it before in passing, but we really go at it in all sorts of ways. One of the things that several of us compete in are races. The kind where you run. 5km, 10km, Sprint Triathlons, and Half Marathons have all been on the plate in one form or another for a number of my family members.

I have completed two half marathons in the past two years, and I finally broke down and admitted that this year I wasn’t going to be able to run in our local race, The Run For The Rocks (or as I abbreviate it RftR…which no one else uses, but acronym is a second language for me, so I abbreviate everything). I was pretty bummed, but based on some health issues I just wasn’t ready.

But I had a lot of regret that this meant I was getting older…and that was unacceptable to me. So I set this totally unattainable goal. If ten people asked me if I was going to run in the RftR in a ten day span leading up to the last day to sign up…I was in. Honestly, I don’t usually talk to ten people in the average week long enough that someone would ask. Remember, I’m Hectic Dad…never in one place long enough to disturb the dust that’s settled there months before.

But this was the first week of school, and the high school football team had not one, but two scrimmages. Volleyball was starting up, so I had those scrimmages to go to as well. And that means lots of people were there. Lots of parents of active kids. And lots of folks who’ve heard me evangelize about the benefits of regular exercise.

By night three of all that, I had talked to five people about my not running. I casually mentioned that I *might* walk the half marathon, but it was just an aside to my avoidance of the issue.

At that point, I started to turn the conversation to other topics when I ran into people. It was getting all too real that I had made a promise to myself that I didn’t think I could keep. I was in no shape to even walk a half marathon. It wasn’t something I should be considering. But I’d laid down the gauntlet for myself…and I’m not one to dodge those personal challenges. At least not usually.

Since I’m not one to dodge them, I don’t do a very good job of it. And that was proven out on day seven when the 8th, 9th, and 10th people asked me if I was a go for the RthR. By the end of the night I was up to 20 people, and decided that I needed a new group of friends and acquaintances. I’ve got way too many people interested in me attempting athletic endeavors that I should be too old for.

But I’d made a promise to myself. That meant I had to come through. Then when the e-mail hit my inbox that “For 12 hours only, sign up for the Run for the Rocks and receive a 13% discount” I knew I was stuck. So I paid my money and then tried to figure out how I was going to train for a half marathon in a week.

I’m not joking. While I plod on the treadmill and do some other workouts, I’m not nearly as regular as I was for a long time. That means that I’m not in shape like I should be, but I do know how to exercise, and I’ve got enough fitness that I’m not really scared to try.

But seriously, a week?

So I started a more serious regimen of preparation. Combinations of treadmill and road walking. Even a little running when I was shorter on time. Some biking. A little weight lifting. To the average person I probably looked like a total idiot, but there was some method to my madness. Total body pain, doled out one body system at a time with a bit of recovery in between.

So, Sunday morning I arrived at the transfer point to catch a bus to the starting line for the half marathon. I had to arrive at 6:00 to be at the starting point by 7:00am for the walkers. I had stuck to my guns enough that I wasn’t going to attempt to do any form of running. In fact, I had pledged that I wouldn’t even jog. I was going to walk. And that’s all I was going to do.

** This is a photo of the START sign at 6:50am **

It was dark, low 50’s, and a little windy. Since it’s Kansas we didn’t really acknowledge the wind. It’s just part of everyday life. When the starting horn went off at exactly 7:00:03 I started out along with about 80 other walkers. The runners were slated to start at 8:00, so we would have a 60 minute head start. My hope was to be at least 4 miles down the course by the time they started, making it to the halfway point before the first runner caught me. It was a pretty lofty goal, but I thought I could do it.

In races like this, they have pace setters, who are runners/walkers with a much better sense of timing and pace that I ever think I’ll have. They walk or run the course carrying a placard that holds the estimated completion time. Amazingly, they usually finish within a few seconds of their goal time. Neither weather nor course changes nor any obstacles seem to impact them. Those folks amaze me.

For the walkers we had one pacer, with 3:00 printed on her placard, meaning a finish at 10:00, three hours after we all started. Since that was my goal I tried to keep her in sight…and I failed from the outset. The little queue of people immediately around the pacer started to pull away, and I realized their pace was faster than what I felt like I could sustain.

So the group pulled away, and at about mile two we had thinned out into a line of walkers, with the occasional group of three or more. Pretty soon I was all alone between two knots, one about a quarter mile ahead, the other about the same distance behind with a few other people scattered in between.

This is the first point in a race where you really find out who you are. There are those who are equipped to hunt down the group in front and pass them. I’m usually one of those people. I set my target, grit my teeth, and gain a little bit with each step. But remember how I said I wasn’t in shape. Today I had to act totally differently, and my main goal was to stay ahead of the knot of people behind me. One of the main reasons was that one of the people in that group was talking constantly, and loudly, since the race began. Despite my headphones, I could still hear her, and I was a quarter mile in front of her. If I got stuck by that group I was sure I would go crazy.

So I pressed on. I’m tall (6’ 2”), so my stride is pretty decent, and that helps. I passed a pair or walkers, and one of the women said to her friend,  “I wish I had long legs like that, it would make these races easier”. I replied that “long legs means there’s just more to hurt during and after the race”. I was being serious, but she was laughing pretty heartily as I pulled ahead.

** Mile 5 water break hosted by HHS Cross Country Team **

I had finally gotten myself close to a 15:00 minute mile pace by mile 5, so I was 75 minutes in and knew that the runners had already started. Pretty soon I would be passed by one of the runners and would have to deal with that psychological blow.

Fortunately, the Hutchinson High School Cross Country team was manning the water station at the 5 mile mark. My younger son was there along with lots of other kids that I have known for years. Their smiling faces did more for me than the water and Gatorade they were proffering. They were very encouraging. They also know how competitive I am, and frankly helped me deal with the fact that I wasn’t running. Cool group of kids, those cross country runners!

So the countdown was on. In my head, like in all my races, I started calculating things. Today the calculation was two-fold. The first calculation was at what point the front-runner would reach me. I hoped I could make it to the halfway point before he got to me. Then I hoped reach another mile beyond that before the first woman caught me. The first was a bit far-fetched, the second even moreso. But on I trod, one foot in front of the other, with my legs beginning to deaden a bit.

** Halfway point, add an hour for my time there **

I reached the halfway point and not front-runner. I have a weird tendency to pull my headphones off and talk to the people cheering on the runners and walkers. I know some of the folks lining this race, and I had some nice 10-20 second chats with them. I offered to switch places with several race workers and police officers who were manning the event. I swear one of these days I’m going to succeed and some poor cop is going to finish a race with my number on. That’ll be the day that every passing runner is greeted with a police siren. I’ve always wanted to set one of those off. I’m so jealous that my second-youngest daughter got to run the siren when the high school football team came back into town from the state football game last year. But I digress…

About six minutes after the halfway point, Mr. Running-So-Fast-And-Smooth went gliding by. He honestly looked like he was gliding. I was elated that I’d made it over a third of a mile past the halfway point, his passing me looking so smooth kind of got me down. Don’t get me wrong, I have never had aspirations of being a smooth runner. Plod and Slog are usually the terms used to describe my running style. But that doesn’t change the fact that Chariots of Fire (both music and visuals) runs through my head when I’m competing in a race. Walking made it that much clearer that I don’t have the kind of gazelle-like moves of Mr. Running-So-Fast-And-Smooth. The first woman runner caught me just before I reached the end of the mile after him, so I felt like I was doing OK.

I then reached a part of the course that is a little bit secluded, and didn’t have very many spectators. With more and more runners catching me I sometimes felt like I was standing still and they were moving on the escalator/moving sidewalk. But I kept going.

** Too Late To Turn Back **

At mile ten I realized something about walking a race that I’d never thought of before. When you’re running, all the focus is on moving fast. That doesn’t leave a lot of time for introspection about all the nagging pains that you have. Tweaked toes, chafing, even fogging glasses (from sweating), doesn’t really come to mind. You’re focusing on getting this thing over with.

When you’re walking it’s a whole other story. You get to smell the roses, the rotting grass from the compost piles, and all sorts of other things. You get to feel every little twinge of your muscles and joints. That little blister gets bigger, and I swear you can feel it growing. As your laces pull across your feet, while they are swelling during the race, you can feel that too. So the battle becomes even more mental…despite the fact that you’re going slower than if you were running. Keeping your mind from making you stop is, frankly, harder than keeping your body from stopping when you’re walking a race like this.

But, by the time the 10 mile marker came along I knew I was going to finish. That’s when my second set of calculations started going through my brain. My wife, Ann, was running the race, and had started an hour after me. We’d run a this same half marathon two years ago, and much to the entire sentient universe’s surprise, I finished 10 minutes ahead of her. Neither of us were able to explain it. Last year she finished 35 minutes ahead of me, but my sprained ankle during the race played a role in that.

So this year, I anticipated that she would pass me, but not until the last mile or two. After the race she said she figured I would finish a mile or so ahead of her. She had more faith in me that I did.

So for two miles I was doing this calculation in my head of what her probably pace was and what my actual pace was. Just prior to the 12 mile mark, she called out my name, and went past me. She didn’t fly past, but she did run by. I was excited for her, as that meant her pace was ahead of what I figured it would be.

Just after passing me, she encountered a runner who was limping badly, and looked really upset. Funny how things work out though.

I slogged along and slowed to ask her if she was OK. And that’s how I met Whitney. She told me that her calves and shins were cramping, and when she tried to stretch her big toe curled under. Having finished the last three miles of the race on a sprained ankle, I knew that adrenalin can only do so much, and it’s dangerous to let your runner’s mind get you to push through a real injury. Pain is one thing, but injury is not something to mess around with.

She was still moving at a pace close enough to what I was doing that I figured I’d be her conscience and walk with her. One of the best decisions I’ve made. We talked about how God had given us a reason to be humble today. We talked about our families. We talked about running. We co-discovered that we both blog. We even exchanged the names of our blogs, then exchanged them again because that runner/walker hypoxia makes it hard to remember things.

Twice she talked about jogging. Twice we came to the conclusion that wasn’t a sound decision. As we reached the stadium for the finish we smiled and realized that we were going to finish. As we rounded the final turn she commented that her time was going to be four minutes slower than her goal time. At that point we realized that we’d both been blessed with just a smidgen of humility to go along with the huge accomplishment of running/walking 13.1 miles.

** Whitney from fitnessontheprairie.wordpress.com finishing **

My new friend, Whitney, finished just ahead of me, partly because I was fiddling with the phone to get this picture. I managed to have enough battery left to get the picture of the finish sign while being cheered on by all sorts of people from our community. For the next 30 minutes or so, I meandered through the crowd on the football field, congratulating fellow runners, meeting their family and friends, and generally trying to stretch my aching legs.

So what’s the point of all this, one of my longest posts yet? Frankly, if I can complete my third half-marathon, anybody can do it. As I was out on the course, I was posting pictures to Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. I even managed to put a little text with each one to give some context and time updates. That kept me a little bit occupied and distracted so I wouldn’t focus on all the nagging little things that were going wrong.

I didn’t set any speed records, but I didn’t anticipate that I would. Honestly, my primary goal was to finish, and I accomplished that. I managed to joke with a little boy at the 9 mile mark, and I think I made his day. He was about four, and handing out gatorade. At that point, most of the people on the course were real runners, and they don’t stop to get water or gatorade. If they are going to grab a cup, they tend to grab it from adults. So as I came in I got his attention from about 50 yards out. I told him I need to get the cup FROM HIM. I told him we needed to synchronize our hands for the hand off, and then proceeded to lift my hand, then lower my hand, then lift it again, trying to get to the right height. He did the same…until we had a perfect handoff. He was grinning like the Cheshire Cat when we had our perfect handoff. His giggles made my morning.

I met a fellow blogger who lives on the prairie and gives a hoot about fitness. Not the sports club, perfectly dressed, afraid to sweat too much kind, but the gritty, personal stuff that you do to stay healthy and fit.

I got to see tons of friends, neighbors, and even strangers get out there and move. One set of folks who were cheering us on asked “How are you doing?”, I replied “OK, but could be doing better”. Their reply, “You’re out there walking, and doing 13.1 miles more than the five of us here sitting on our butts”. It was all said with a smile, but the point hit home.

I was out there, doing something. Nothing really all that extraordinary. Nothing that will make headlines. Nothing that cannot be attempted by any other common person. Just getting out and moving.

So how about it? What are you going to do to get moving? You might as well start now, you’re not getting any younger!