Week later post-race thoughts (a quasi-race report)

My sister's guest post was pretty much how it all played out. No need for me to fill in random details, except that, with the exception of our lead speed piggie Yumke, I'm happy we managed to run with all the rest of the Canadian bacon crew in this race. We started the race with Cousin, ran with Grasshopper from Mile 2.5-4, walked with his entourage just past the halfway mark, and finished to the delirious cheers of all our curbside grunts (ie family).

As I hobbled (I was surprised that I was surprised that my legs would feel the way they did since we'd walked most of the course) back to my hotel after all les felicitations from the family, I was already thinking about my next race. It's not that I feel I "wasted" my half-assed winter training, but I did sign up to run this race.

I was never going to abandon my sister during her first-ever half marathon. If I inspired her to lace up in the first place, it's practically my duty to stick with her for this distance. I said from the moment we'd signed up for this race that I'd see her to the finish. And that's what I did. No matter how many times she tried to push me away, I just held firm ("I'm on you like bad B.O., just try to get rid of me") and talked to her. At times I thought to myself, whether we were doing more damage to her leg just by continuing, while simultaneously cursing the non-existent medical help. It didn't seem that my sister thought quitting was an option. As long as she had the power to put one foot in front of another, she was going to get to the finish line. And so we soldiered on. Sometimes running a few hundred meters, but mostly walking. We'd started on a 12-minute mile pace and held it for four miles. Not bad. But when her leg started hurting, the time to cover a mile eventually stretched to 20+-minutes because of the starting and stopping. My sister would freak out about "her time" but I'd say, "sista, we in this for completion. Everything else is gravy. You worry about your 'time' next time. This is a PB before we started."

Somewhere between Miles 8-10, I think she stopped listening to my optimistic chitchat, and just complained. One reason for these outbursts was hunger. Anyone that knows either of us knows that if we start getting cranky, No. 1 resolution is to feed us. We're probably just hungry and our anger is being misplaced. (Aside: last year, my sister and her husband went to Spain and her husband learned to carry a cache of almonds in his pockets for any hint of a hunger-induced rant). All we had were the sportsbeans and by this time, they just weren't that satisfying. What we needed was food. Even I nearly succumbed to the pangs.

But by the time we got to Mile 12, we were ready to finish strong. We didn't stop, not once, on the final 1.1 mile. I kept an eye out along the side of the road for the family. In fact, they were on an upper walkway and I can't believe I could hear them yelling my sister's name above all the din. But I pointed them out to my sister, and whispered with tears welling up in my eyes, that I was so very proud of her.

We raised our arms in triumph. There's nothing like crossing the finish line. And then two bags of ice taped to the knees immediately.