How this time, my first time sucked too.

Finally the day when I would run my first half marathon came.

After weeks of nervousness, small panic attacks and awful runs (cause of said panic attacks), a week before the race I went for it and did a 13 mile run. Having finished that within my estimated time, I felt ready to let the bitchin' go and started to get exited to run my very first 13.1

The day before I got myself in total war strategy mode. Slept 8 hrs. the day before, had a 20 min stretch-your-legs run and then relaxed for the rest of the day. I downed 7 water bottles, 3 with recovery mix. Had hearty bfast, had sweet potato & plain chicken for dinner. Man, I was as ready.

Still, I was more anxious and more nervous than before any other race I've ever done. Much more than my first triathlon. Why? Cause it was all about running.

Not that I'm a fish, or Lance's lost twin sister, but if I'm not exactly good at something, that, is running. It has never been natural to me, I've never been good at it, I've never been fast and it never stops hurting. And this race was all about doing it for 2 hrs. But I had trained as much as I could have and I knew that I was going in as ready as I was going to get.

The morning of the race I meet with my fellow BPCers LVO, Jeremy and Kelly. We discuss in the car how the wild card here is the sun and how it may kill us while trying to convince Jer that really, 87 degrees is not you're ideal half-marathon-running temperature.

We get to the starting line, Jeremy decides to wait for the starting gun within his 7ish minute mile pace group, while LVO and Kelly walk to the 9ish minute mile with me, to not leave me alone, as I'm pretty nervous and I keep repeating: I'm gonna pass out!

5,4,3,2, Hoooonk! From step one to mile 1 I keep thinking how I did this last week and I was fine, and I finished in a decent time for me and it was all about doing it again. The sun thou, was certainly beating me, relentless and feeling twice as hot because of the blazing asphalt.

Now, I need to mention here that I'm a sweat machine. In a controlled-temperature room lifting weights, I sweat like a chicken being roasted, or my personal favorite, like a whore in church. I'm not sure why, but that's how I'm wired. This time, running, in a close to 90 degree weather with no shade, by mile 1.5 I was already dehydrated.

Mile 2 to 5.5 were miserable. All I kept thinking it was how I had to bail, and how I just needed to get to mile 4 to find my cheering bosses and asked them to drive me home. How I would say: dude, today was not the day. Today is not gonna happen. How I would then on Tuesday have to tell my coach Ali, that I had quitted by mile 4, that I didn't feel well, that it was hot and what not. And then I would imagine her face and disappointment. I would think then of how many long runs I had done leading this race and how it was really just about keep moving one leg after the other.

Finally mile 4ish came and my cheering crowd is there, with Boden letting me know how he's running the whole marathon the next day, and not the half like me. Their faces carry me to mile 5 .5 where LVO passes me on the way back and after high five-ing me I see Laura Miyakawa holding the best "Run like a Gorilla!" sign and I really want to stop and hug her, but I know that if I stop I may not be able to run again.

Turnaround comes at mile 6, and I quickly realize that my time is completely fucked. I would have to run the remaining 7.1 miles at a 8 min/mile pace, which I've only done once, for ONE mile, thank-you-very-much, to finish at my estimated time. Knowing so, I feel pretty shitty and frustrated, but also gives me a sense of freedom: Oh well. I guess the best next thing is finishing, so let' go for that.

Mile 6.5 brings Laura M again, mile 8 brings my cheering bosses once more. Around mile 9 I pass for the 100th time random guy who, oddly enough, is wearing a baggy grey cotton t-shirt and slow down to chat: You know I'm only out to beat you right? What? he asks. Yeah, my time I fucked now, so I'm now out to beat you. I need to crush someone. You're funny! he says. No I'm not, I think, but let him believe I'm kidding while he stupidly sprints to pass me, using his last gas. I stay in the back for a bit while someone recognizes my BPC jersey and asks me: You're Ali Winslow's? Yup, I'm hers! K, bye! Catch again with the baggy grey shirt guy and after the mandatory: is this your first? yup, you? yup! Is hot men, this sucks! I know... I drop him behind until I only hear from the back: ok, bye! See you soon... and like that he's gone.

Mile 10 and I try to cheer me on by thinking I have just a 5k left, but at this point I'm well overcooked. Mile 11.5, and Laura M pops out of nowhere in Downtown Crossing with a "Just keep Running! sign and I try to decided if I want to yell: I LOVE YOU! or GO HOME AND MAKE ME TACOS! as we're to celebrate the race with fish tacos at her place that night.

Mile 12 and I wonder if I could repeat the miracle of the 8 minute mile again, and while I wonder I see the finish line. In my mind I'm sprinting, but I'm quite sure that of a sprint it only had the intention.

I'm finally done. I have to stop and lean on my knees as I'm dizzy and unbelievably hot as a volunteer asks me if I'm ok. I say yes out of pride but I'm not all that sure. Coming into the tents i grab as much water as I can and drop some ice cubes down my neck. Well, that sucked.

On the after hours I get calls, texts, facebooks asking me how it was and congratulating me on my first. At taco dinner everyone wants a recap. I honestly want to be happy about it, but the I finished my first half joy is completely washed away with the disappointment of finishing in 2:31.

2:31. I know Mexican power walkers who walk a 13.1 faster than that. 2:31, that is 30 min more than expected. 2:31, in a word: sucks.

Yet, I lived to see another day and to go back and think of what went wrong, and to maybe one day, pretend that I'm a virgin and give my first, a second go.