I feel bold flying south down the 405 freeway before 5am, dressed in running gear. It feels almost like a dream. Heavy fog surrounds my car, hanging low on the road, causing me to slow waaaay down on the exit ramp to the 105 E. I can hardly see twenty feet ahead, and I'm freezing. I crank up the heat and my Civic becomes a warm, comforting womb. In a few hours I will be reborn into a life where I have completed a half marathon. 13.1 miles. Last year I would have laughed at that idea in the face. If ideas even have faces.
 |
| It's a foggy run-derland. |
Los Angeles traffic rules when the city is asleep. I arrive at the designated Kaiser Permanente parking lot in record time and soon I'm in line for a port-o-potty. The sinks they have set up confuse me and I have to ask how to get the water to come out. And then, like a pioneer, I'm pumping a pedal with my foot to wash my hands. 30 minutes to race time. I walk towards the lights flooding Riverdale Park in Anaheim and enjoy the ambience. I observe everyone's pre-race procedures and stare in disbelief when I see people running around. I guess I can understand wanting to warm up but go pump some sink water for cryin' out loud. You're about to run all the way to Sprinkles and back. (A few days earlier I calculated that 13.1 miles from my apartment would be like driving to Beverly Hills and then coming home. I remember how I felt when I made that discovery. Deep seeded regret.)
 |
| Bowing to the mother Honker spaceship. |
I carefully stretch a few leg muscles and I'm done. I decide I'm not making any more unnecessary movements, not burning one more calorie. I'm gonna need every ounce of whatever is stored in my body from last night's Kraft Macaroni & Cheese Spirals dinner. I watch a group perform a yoga warm-up together in the center of the park. Then they herd us to the starting line, and my excitement returns. I walk past the table with all of the finisher's medals piled on top of it. I am immediately disappointed. The marathon medal is twice as big as the half marathon medal. Well, shoot. Guess I'm coming back next year and running twice as far...I try not to think about it. I'm still here to kick off a year of amazing, immaculate change. Of hope and of accomplishment. And of course, safety. I adjust my Road ID bracelet and think about the fact that this half marathon could in fact kill me. I wonder if it has the cojones to do such a thing. To an innocent, wide-eyed gal wearing braids who is only trying to do something positive in her life. I decide it won't even come close to killing me. Because I'm going to kill it first.
A woman sings the national anthem at the starting line. A man gets on the mic next and asks us to raise our hands if this is our first half marathon (I raise my hand), or first marathon. And then disaster hits. I have to pee again. This happens to me sometimes. I supposed I over-hydrated the night before and throughout the morning. I hear the man say there are port-o-potties along the route but I don't hear which miles they are located at. Oh well. Time to run!
 |
| Pretend you're running from zombies, I tell myself. |
The race travels up and down the Santa Ana River Trail. A guy runs alongside me and says, "Beautiful run! This is a beautiful run, isn't it?" He seems so excited to be there, so enamored with his surroundings...with running in general. It's catchy. As I try to forget my bladder, I look around me at all of the runners, all of the scenery, and I'm happy. I'm jogging, I'm warming up, and I'm having a blast. And there is a medal in my future. I look down at my cheapo Armitron watch timer and see I've run a little over 3 minutes. Best to not look at that watch again for a good long while. Since this whole thing is an experiment, I have no real idea what to expect in terms of what my end time will actually be. And for this first race at least, I don't really care. I just want to cross the finish line upright instead of crawling. I think I can pull this off. Magazine articles speak of maintaining a respectable finish line etiquette, as though I might actually have the option to do a bunch of arrogant push-ups at the end, or showboat my way through making obscene hand gestures. No need to discourage me from that sort of behavior. I anticipate not really having enough glycogen left to muster a smile.
 |
| The Honkers refrain from offering their support. |
I hunker down and attempt to enjoy the environment all around me. The fog is lifting and the sun is rising, and I look to my right and see the Honkers that this race is named after. The Canada geese look like they could care less that I own a fanny pack that is designed not to bounce. Ahead is mile marker one. I rejoice! I run past a volunteer and ask where the first port-o-potty is. She has no idea. My bladder is not happy with that answer. I keep going. Mile marker two gives me another volunteer that is not familiar with the toilet schematics either, and I press on to mile marker three where I see (drumroll)...a john! Thank GOD. Unfortunately there are two women ahead of me in line so I lose about ten minutes waiting but it's worth it. I continue from there empty and free of discomfort. Excellent.
 |
| A serene view of a muddy overpass. |
I start to notice that most of the area around me is muddy and dead looking. I wonder what this landscape looks like in the spring or summer. Beethoven's 9th Symphony blazes through my iPod and I'm in love with my special Honkers playlist, which I devised the night before. I've got classical, I've got dubstep, I've got movie themes and my own personal anthem (see sidebar). I'm set for a very enjoyable run. I do turn it off whenever I hit a mile marker however, because I love hearing the support from the volunteers, handing out water and cups of some sort of sweet energy drink, and telling me how awesome I'm doing. They have even written inspirational messages and drawn cutesy pictures in chalk all along the trail near many of the mile markers, making me feel even more special, just for showing up. They laugh at my jovial banter and make as much noise as they can as each runner stumbles past, and I love the attention. It's awesome. And I'm still feeling okay.
 |
| Thanks, trail! |
Soon I'm coming up on 60 minutes of running and I know I need to eat something. I have wondered about how this would play out - I've only tried simultaneous running and eating once before at the gym a week prior and didn't experience any issues. So I go for the free chocolate Clif Shot energy gel that I got at packet pickup. I initially have problems ripping it open but eventually manage to create a nice sucking hole. I squeeze some in my mouth and am surprised it looks and tastes like, and has the consistency of chocolate frosting. It's freaking delicious. I finish the packet and guiltily throw it on the ground. There are empty gel packets all along the trail so I feel it's expected, but I still don't like littering. The thick frosting makes me incredibly thirsty so I grab some water at the next mile marker (5). I feel like I have frosting all over my mouth and face and do a big wipe with my sleeve. That's when I see I've got the chocolate goo under some of my nails. Man, this stuff is a mess. But it's cool because I'm truckin' along without hitting any walls so far and if I have to eat delicious frosting to stay strong I'll make that sacrifice, you know? I halfway suspect that packing candy corn would have done just as well without the mess, but hey, I'm a runner now. And runners eat energy gel. Time to get with the program, Johnson. (I end up eating two energy gels total for this race, which is perfect.)
 |
| Hi, I'm a running lunatic! |
At this point I see a photographer crouched ahead to my left and I smile for him broadly. Little did I know I had Angel Stadium right behind me. I'm a big believer in angels and all things spiritual and I like to think that this picture represents my guardian angels being 'behind me' in this whole running thing. A part of me thinks they were the ones who gave me this crazy idea in the first place, to start running in races. I think some of our greatest inspiration comes from 'above'. I definitely feel more productive as a human being so far. I mean, it's Sunday morning, and instead of sleeping in and watching Roseanne reruns from my DVR, I'm outside, getting some fresh air, and doing something I consider to be amazing and impossible both at the same time. And downright good for me. As I move ahead I keep seeing the full marathoners (you know, the people getting the bigger medals) heading back towards me, passing me up going the opposite way. I clap for some of them, tell a few of them "Good job!" I receive mixed responses and I decide to quit it, and let them concentrate on their doom. I've got bigger fish to fry.
Up ahead I see the most beautiful sight thus far - the half marathon turnaround. That means I've made it half way! I see a woman at a table with a laptop making sure we don't keep going straight, into the horizon, never to be seen again. I successfully run around her, then stop to take a picture of her. I'm just so darn happy to see her! I decide then and there that she must be the most beloved volunteer amongst all of the half marathon runners. Then I realize that every mile I just ran must be repeated, and I take stock of how I'm feeling physically.
 |
| Turnaround...bright eyes. |
I'm definitely getting tired, that much can be deduced. I've also got energy gel breath, and my right hip is starting to bug me (typical). It's going to be a long second half. By the time I stagger up to the mile 8 volunteer tables I'm thinking, "Screw this." A woman hands me a cup of something perfect while saying, "Looking good! Looking good!" I retort, "If this is looking good, I'd hate to see what looking bad looks like." She laughs good-naturedly and heck, so do I. This is getting to be hilarious. By mile 9 I'm thinking I've made a huge error in judgment. By mile 10...I hate my life. Miles 11 and 12 are spent trying to keep the pace with two old men, one wearing a bright yellow t-shirt with a Bible verse on it about God giving him strength, and the other wearing an oversized fishing hat and a fuel belt equipped with a huge bottle of red fruit drink sloshing about. I love these guys because they keep me motivated. They are so not giving up, and neither am I. To be honest, I don't remember if I ever passed them or not. I only know we ran together, and then my mind sort of went into survival mode.
 |
| Girl with medals, here I come! |
The last mile frustrates me because I have to walk a bit...in the last dang mile. You don't walk!!! But my hip mandates it so I oblige. (I also look at my watch and am shocked at how quickly the time flew.) The longest mile I've ever run finally ends in a sprint towards the finish line. I'm surprised when I hear the guy on the microphone announce me as I run through. "And here is number 1168...Jennifer Johnson. Coming in strong!" I whiz past the woman holding the medals without even seeing her. She chases me down and gives me one. I thank her and walk off, stunned. I keep walking around, and I grab a banana and a bottle of water. I also ask for one of those solar blankets so I have something to sit on. Then I sort of lose it. I bend over and do one of those combo cry-laughs. Kind of like Tom Hanks in The Money Pit, when the bathtub falls through the floor. I'm delirious and my legs feel crazy stiff. But I'm alive! And the medal is so pretty!
 |
| Honkers finisher medal! |
I then proceed to text everyone I know who cares that I did this race. I receive all the congrats and support I can stand and love every moment. I PR at 2:48:42 (because this is my first half) and five minutes later I get to watch as the first full marathoner comes through. The guy ran a full in the time I ran a half. That is hardcore. OK, he can have a bigger medal. I get it now. Twice as fast, twice as big. I get it. Suddenly my smaller medal seems just right and I sling it around my neck with pride, where it remains as I stop at Starbucks on the way home for a celebratory grande decaf Pumpkin Spice Latte, no whip. Every time I stop walking or moving, my legs feel stiffer so I make it a point to keep the blood flowing for as long as I can before the car ride home. Luckily traffic is not too horrible and I'm home in less than an hour. I immediately continue stretching and admiring my medal. And eating. Then I take a hot bath and get into my pajamas, because let's be real. I'm in for the day. I've done more than any human should do within a 24-hour period. I'm good. I immediately Google if drinking wine after a race is good for the muscles. Turns out it's not for half marathoners. This news comes as kind of a huge blow, but I take consolation in the fact that I have a medal with ducks on it. I proceed to change my bed sheets and do a load of laundry. A few hours later my knees begin to hurt, which alarms me because I never experienced any knee pain during the race (nor do I ever when I'm training). I pass this off as an overflow of lactic acid from my muscles, settling into all the nooks and crannies in my legs, and decide I need to invest in a good foam roller soon.
 |
| Insanely delicious after 13.1. |
In the end, I feel illuminated. I feel like I can do anything for the first time in a looooong time. I used to feel that way as a foolhardy schoolgirl, but adulthood can wear you down. Would I do this race again? In a heartbeat. It was so well organized, very simple, very peaceful, and very memorable. I really do think I may do the full marathon next year (after ample training), but for now, half marathons may be my thing. There is nothing like passing the finish line after 13.1. And you never forget your first. I look at that medal and the feelings come back to me. I will never forget this experience for the mere reason that it was full of discoveries. Full of so many awesome moments of possibility and enlightenment. I don't pretend that it wasn't difficult. It was sheer torture at times, but I think that's what I liked about it. Because I persevered! I didn't die! I found out what I was made of, and it's pure diamonds baby. I'm tough as diamonds. And definitely tougher than Honkers.
 |
| My Honkers Results - Click for a larger view. |
