2 Days of Awesome

 A PR. On what is in most local runners' minds one of the harder road half-marathons. HOW THE HECK DID THAT HAPPEN?!
   Honestly, I have no idea how I pulled this one off. I didn't taper, didn't carboload, didn't do any weeks over 35 miles, hardly did any speedwork, and only had 2 long runs of any consequence. Still, my city knows how to pump a girl up, and with all those people cheering on every street and at every water stop, there was no way I was going to slow down my pace. I started off easy, deciding not to look at my watch until the 1st mile marker, and when I saw a pace that would, if held until the end, take me to a new PR, I thought "Hey, let's see how long I can hold on to this one without feeling like poop!"
   When I got to Mile 4, a thought occurred to me: Holy. Macaroni. Is this race hilly. I train on hills, but a lack of carbohydrate stores combined with a lack of sleep and a lack of taper had my legs going "Woman, slow down!" There was no chance of me dropping off my pace, though, so I did what any runner in my situation would do: Turn up the explicit rap music, swig some Perpetuem, and keep on keepin' on. After all, this was my favorite race of the year, and no way in heck was I coming out of it with anything over a 1:45 (Hi, I'm Emily. I am extremely competitive and if I tell you that I am going to just "run by feel" and take a race "easy," it is a blatant, absolute pile of bologna).
    What I love about half-marathons is that, in my opinion, once you get to mile 8, the race really does fly by, and on Saturday I knew if I could make it to mile 8 on pace, I would be able to sustain enough to get me across the finish in a respectable (for me) time. Mile 8 turned out to be windier than Chicago in January, with gusts so big I was basically being thrown from one side of the path to the other, but I knew there were free gummy bears and a dancing tiger on an old, 1980's wagon ahead, so I told myself to suck it the eff up and get the lead out.
   Sure enough, the tiger was there at mile 10, but as always, my stomach was saying no no no to free gummy bears, so instead I lived vicariously through the crazies in front of me that were shoving those things in their mouths like it was the first morsel of food they'd seen in years. I passed my old coach at mile 10 (personal victory, since the woman is actually a superhero), and prepared myself for the last bitch of a hill at mile 11. The wind was so bad at this point that people were literally hunched over trying to block it, and I started to feel really bad for the taller runners who were waving like planks in the wind.
   Thankfully after that last hill it's pretty much a straight downward slant to the finish, so I kicked it into high gear once I hit mile 12. Unfortunately, the wind was being a major biotch and was blowing me all over the place as I began my finishing kick, but I dealt. Less enjoyable was that feeling, a first-time for me, of ohmygosh- I will blow chucks- queasiness that happened about 200 yards out. I tried to remind myself that was just my body pushing it to the limit, and thankfully I passed through the finishing chute in 1:44:33, with my breakfast still intact.
   That race reaffirmed my love for 13.1's, and helped me set some BIG TIME goals for the next two halves I have coming up in November. Can you say sub 1:40?