Saturday morning, pre-run:
Lindsey, knowing I planned a long run today, looked at her calendar. On there (as there was on mine) was an appointment for Sunday 24 May 2009 for “Brian runs the Helvetia Half Marathon”. I had asked her, a couple of weeks ago, if she would be my “support crew” for my first half marathon, said support consisting of getting me to the race, and being there at the finish line to cheer me on. I hadn’t entirely decided I was going to do it, but having someone else involved helped ensure that I would carry out the plan.
“Honey,” she said, “if you run 11 miles next weekend, you could have a two-week taper before the half on the 24th.”
“I can’t run 11 miles next weekend,” I replied, “because I’m running the 12K Lake Run that weekend. That’s 7-point-something miles.”
“Well,” she suggested, “You could run 11 miles today, then run the race next weekend, and still have a good taper before the half.” Runners (which Lindsey was at one time), refer to half marathons as just “halfs”. It’s jargon-y.
“Wow. 11 miles?” I had trouble wrapping my head around the idea that I was anywhere near ready for an 11 mile run.
“But you just ran 9 miles two weeks ago,” she said, encouragingly.
“Well… sure. But…” I didn’t know why it seemed like so much further. It was only 2 miles more than my last long run. Maybe it was the jump to double-digits.
“You could totally do it,” Lindsey said.
I spent the rest of the morning motivating myself, and preparing for, an 11 mile run.
Saturday afternoon, post-run:
My sister, along with her husband and my youngest nephew, were over at my apartment. She was picking up her laptop, which I had spent the previous day cleaning up because I am such an awesome brother.
“I ran 11 miles today!” I announced proudly.
“Wow! I can’t imagine it. What’s it like to run for 2 hours straight?” she said.
“I’m preparing for the Helvetia Half Marathon in three weeks. Would you like to come see your brother run his very first one?”
My brother-in-law said, “Where do you go to watch someone run 13 miles?”
My sister asked me when it was, and I told her the date I had marked on my calendar, 24 May. She looked, and said, sadly, “That’s Memorial Day weekend.” They were going to be at their beach house that weekend.
My brother-in-law said, “I don’t think there’s any way we can make it,” but Lisa wasn’t entirely sure. “What time is it?”
So I double-checked the website.
The date listed was Saturday 13 June 2009. Start time was 8 AM.
“What the…? How did I get the wrong date?” I thought about my run today, and the now 6 weeks until the half.
“Oh, no!” my brother-in-law said, amused. “You peaked too soon!“