Goals for Today:
1. To finish
2. To take water and/or Gatorade at every single aid station, regardless of whether I think I need it or not (trust me, this is one of my big issues)
3. To beat 2:00:00. Even if it's 1:59:59.
The most important goals are #1 and #2. #3 is just a bonus.
I came absolutely prepared for this race. Right down to a water bottle for Propel packets and a new box of Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch. (We runners need our early-morning fuel from somewhere- the Cap'n graciously supplies mine.)
Weather, as viewed from my hotel room: Dark. Foggy. Weather Channel says a high of 52, no wind, fog lifting by late morning. PERFECT race conditions, I honestly could not have planned it better myself. This race has a history of being HOT... thank God it's not.
We got to the Start line a little bit early. Found my corral entrance, and went off to the side a little bit to stand around and wait. I had my comfy black sweatpants on to keep warm before the race started. The sun is just starting to come up, and the sky isn't as pitch black as it was when I woke up. It's kind of surreal being here in the dark... makes me want to actually run a race in the dark. Could be fun. I'll remember to Google that.
We are standing right at the end of the finish for the 5K. Yes, there was a 5K as well. And it started even earlier than we will, if you can believe that. There's a big bush next to us, and a red truck. A runner comes over, old, warm shirt in hand. He balls it up, and shoves it into the bushes. Jay and I start laughing. So much for gear check. I sneak a peek at my watch, and discover it's time to go.
I arrive at the start corral, ditch my comfy sweats and get ready to run. The corrals are by far one of the most organized and well-thought parts of the race. It's easy to get in and out, and I don't see people in my corral that shouldn't be there. Totally different from Chicago. My watch says 8:00, and the gun goes off. We're underway. I wave to Jay and head off.
Mile 1: This takes us through part of downtown, and through the parking lot of the Clinton Presidential Museum, a gorgeous building right on the river. This would turn out to be my slowest mile of the entire race. Definitely due to the fact that I had to run around walkers about 200 m from the start line. So much for my start corral praise.
Time for a pit stop. Already. In my experience, it's better to go early than wait. Now or never, in other words.
Mile 2: I turn the corner and there's a crowd! A big one, very nearly in front of our hotel. And there's Jay! He takes my picture, I wave and keep on going (sadly, the picture did not turn out. Some girl ran in front of it at the last minute.). We now go onto a bridge that spans the Arkansas River and leads to North Little Rock. As the bridge run winds down and we get to dry land, I look to the left and see the elite marathoners make the turn. The turn back towards downtown. The one somewhere between 4 and 5 miles, closer to 5. I look at my watch, 20 min have elapsed since I crossed the start line. Yikes.
Our mile marker for #2 is right smack in the middle of a residential neighborhood in North Little Rock. People are up early on this Sunday morning, standing on their front porches, yelling for runners. I love running through neighborhoods. Reminds me of walking through Edison Park during my Thanksgiving Turkey Trot with Dad.
Mile 3: This mile continues through North Little Rock. An interesting town, to say the least. It seems to alternate between falling-down buildings and new hotels, restaurants, and arenas. We pass the arena where the AFL2 team in Little Rock plays. There are cable car tracks in the middle of the road. I step in one, and stumble, because yes, I am THAT clumsy.
I notice that there are signs everywhere giving interesting facts about the places we pass. I hope this continues throughout the race... gives me something else to do.
Right after the mile marker, we passed by a little church that had a choir singing for the runners. They were also giving out fruit snacks, which was sweet. The lady in front of me did a couple of cartwheels for the church group and kept on running. She didn't even break stride. I'm impressed. I also notice that she is wearing a Chicago Marathon shirt. A piece of home, perhaps?
Mile 4: Still in North Little Rock, running through town. It's a nice place. I'm starting to think that whoever made the elevation chart for this race is a liar. There are no hills.
I see the mile marker, right next to the Wyndham hotel. Last time I was down this way, I stayed at the Wyndham. It's a nice place. There's a few people cheering for us, but not many. We have more spectators to look forward to once we cross that bridge again.
I'm still right on pace, both time-wise and goal-wise. Another aid station looms, and I grab a Gatorade. Mission (so far) accomplished.
Mile 5: We pass the minor league baseball stadium, which looks brand-new. I definitely don't think that was here last time...
We're following the trail along the Arkansas River. It's such a peaceful morning. But I've been running for almost an hour now, and my hands are sweating. Time to ditch my gloves. Thank God for Magic Stretchy gloves purchased (in bulk) at Walgreens with my corporate discount.
Making the turn now, getting back onto the "Broadway Bridge." Hmm, I wonder where the elite runners are now. Probably almost done. I grin. I am doing awesome so far. The mile marker is on the bridge, about 50 feet past the "Welcome to Little Rock" sign. So far I am loving this race.
The weather. The people. My pace. Everything.
But I'm still wondering where the phantom hills are.
Mile 6: Back into downtown. Pretty soon we're going to ditch the first leg of the marathon relay participants and get fresh legs in here. Who will inevitably pass us. But that's ok. I love weaving through downtown. The streets are so pretty, and the city seems like it's just beginning to wake up. I notice some of the same people who were cheering at Mile 1. Still enthusiastic, yet still eyeing us like we're all mad. But that's to be expected.
(I'm going to go off an a tangent here and talk about my experience running in my northwest suburban Chicago neighborhood. When I run on the bike path that's exactly .25 miles away from my house, no problemo. There are tons of people out there, recreational, hardcore, young, old, fit, unfit, etc, etc.) But whenever I venture away from the path and go to the roads, say, to run and do errands, moms in their minivans literally slow down to stare at me. Is it because I'm fast? Is it because I'm hot? Do I look absolutely horrible at the end of a long run? Probably, but that part is beside the point. In other words, I know a little something about looks from nonrunners.)
Mile 7: Ah, THERE are the hills. And they are pretty intense. When I say intense, honestly, I don't really have a lot of comparison. I've never run in the mountains. I live in easily the flattest part of Illinois. There's only 1 hill I run regularly, and that's the hill around mile 9 of the North Shore Half Marathon. I do this once a year. There is no such thing as rolling hills up here. Flat, flat, flat.
At the crest of the hill is a huge, beautiful park, set in the middle of one of the first Indian settlements in Arkansas. We're starting to wind through neighborhoods with gorgerous architecture. In fact, not only did we pass the governor's mansion, but also the Sugarbaker House from the tv show Designing Women. I can't wait to tell my mom about that one- she's the only person besides myself who is interested.
Mile 8: These hills are nothing like Illinois. I feel powerful, but I'm sure my legs are going to hurt later. I'm not giving up.
More hills. Running up to the state capital, I see the runners and then they disappear, presumably for a downhill. Scary nonetheless. I slow down my pace to jog this hill. I'm getting tired, but never tired enough to quit. I can visualize the finish line, and it helps me along. I raced 9.5 miles on November like it was nothing. So THIS, I reason, is nothing.
We loop around a church. The parishioners on one side are handing out Jolly Ranchers. Turn the corner, get some water, and on the other side there are orange slices. Nothing beats a small-town race with great spectators. Another reason why I like Little Rock more than Chicago...
I space out as I pass the state capital- having seen so many before, I don't even remember what it looks like, but figure it's similar to the ones I've seen in Illinois, Michigan, and Wisconsin, among others.
Mile 9: I scan the crowd in this area, looking for Jay, no dice. But plenty of other spectators. The roar of the crowd is huge as we turn the corner and then... another hill. Seriously, this is insane. I'm getting tired. I stop and take my first walk break of the race. 9+ miles without stopping (well, except for a pit stop). Not too shabby. I decide to walk up this hill. You know, to save energy.
This mile is infamously known as the "Methodist Mile," for the number of churches that we will pass on our way to 10. The first church we pass has a Christian rock band entertaining the runners. They don't call it the Bible Belt down here for nothing...
Mile 10: At this point, I am totally spaced out. I don't see everything around me, it passes in such a blur. All I remember is that I tried to determine the mileage between this point and Louisiana, because running for so long in a straight line, I thought for sure that's where we were headed. More historic homes, more friendly faces, more rolling hills. I'm intensely focused and not even hearing the music from my headphones anymore. I think I just heard Rihanna. But whatever.
We make a turn and then... there's ANOTHER hill. I walk up this one as well.
Mile 11: I find consolation in the fact that we are almost at the point where the half marathoners separate from the full. I can also see the river and see the downtown area from up here. I take solace in the knowledge that what goes up, must come down. Thank God for whoever came up with that theory.
Another big hill. Dang. Although at this point I'm happy that I purchased the "What hills?" training hat and t-shirt back in December. I understand the slogan perfectly now. Straight ahead go the marathoners. Halvsies make the turn, and bam, there's the mile marker.
Mile 12: After 0.5 mi, after viewing more historic homes and rejoining the full marathoners, we turn a corner and then... a DOWNHILL! Yay! I honestly didn't think this point would come. We cross a bridge over the I-630 highway (btw, this is the 3rd time we have crossed this highway. I can only imagine what the people in their cars are thinking. It probably has the word "crazy" in it.) and are heading straight for downtown. This part of the race is an absolute blur. I am going to do it. 4 months of hard training, not quitting, pushing myself to the limits, driving 10+ hours to get here, it was all worth it. This is where I knew that I would finish this race. There was no way I couldn't.
A race volunteer steps into the middle of the street shouting directions to the half marathoners. We are in the home stretch. Her enthusiasm is contagious and I can't help but smile.
Mile 13: I encounter a girl who is, to put it mildly, done. She speeds up, then walks, frustrated. Speed up, slow down. Speed up, slow down. I run up beside her and tell her that it's almost over. She says, "Thank God," and speeds up, slows down. I am not going to let this girl beat me. Add another goal to my list.
There's only a half mile left, I can feel it. The last aid station is upon us, The Little Rock Parrot Heads. With my Hawaiian shorts, I fit right in. I take a cup of Gatorade, and the volunteers give me a high five. At least someone appreciates the Hawaiian shorts.
More downhills. Yessss. We pass along the back of our hotel, and I catch a glimpse of the finish line. I'm really going to do this. That medal is mine.
I scroll through the tracks on my playlist. (Thank God for a watch that controls my tunes!) I have a tradition when I run a really stellar race and have enough juice for a strong kick. I need to finish races in such circumstances to "Hit Me Baby One More Time" by Britney Spears. It's sort of my thing. I switch it on and turn my legs into high gear. I tell myself, you have tomorrow off! You came to Little Rock to do your best, so it's go time.
Mile 13.1: The finish line is right there. I can see it. Britney helps me groove. Someone in the crowd calls out my name. I see Jay on the opposite side, taking pictures and waving. I grin for the camera and cross the finish as my name comes over the loudspeaker. I'm done, and in a personal best time, 2:14:04. Go me.
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