I Ran a Half Marathon… Now What?

Earlier this semester, I published a blog announcing my intention to run a half marathon. Last weekend, I completed that goal. It was the first race I had trained for since my middle school cross-country days.

I ran a practice half marathon seven days before the race. It was the longest run I’d ever completed, and it was tough. I maintained an 8’45” pace for the first nine miles or so; then I hit a brick wall. Those last four miles were a slog to the finish. Was I properly prepared for the forthcoming race? Would I embarrass myself? The practice route had more hills than the actual course… maybe I would be okay. Maybe the adrenaline of race day would propel me to the finish line. Either way, there was no backing out now. The race was booked, my shirt was ordered, and my mom (who had trained for significantly longer) was ready to kick my ass.

The night before, I made sure to drink a lot of water. And I mean a lot. I drank about 12 glasses (and subsequently woke up that many times to pee). I devoured my prototypical race-eve pasta and prayed I wouldn’t make a fool out of myself.

The next morning came early. Up at 6 AM, and out the door by 6:50. It was cold in Asheville. I’m not sure what happened to the Spring weather, but at 31 degrees it felt like winter in Western North Carolina. My mom and I warmed up, stretched, and made our way to the starting line.

The race began at 7:30. With my AirPods in, I bade farewell and good luck to my mom. I had promised myself I wouldn’t start too quickly, that I wouldn’t let the adrenaline of the moment accidentally derail my race. And while I ran my first mile slightly faster than intended, I was pleased. My first mile was an 8’56” pace, but I knew I could improve.

As the race continued, we departed downtown Asheville and made our way to the greenway alongside the French Broad River. I began to slowly pick up my pace.

Every time the course would double back on itself I would scan the faces ahead and behind, looking for my mom. Around the eight-mile marker, I finally found her; she was probably 0.75 miles ahead. By this point, my current pace was about 8’04,” but I knew I could go faster.

I increased my pace in the ensuing miles and finally caught my mom at the 11-mile marker. I tried to hype her up as I passed her, but she was angry. I don’t blame her. With each passing mile, my pace improved. My final mile was a 6’50” pace. I finished the race in 150th with an average pace of 7’50.” Not too shabby for a first half marathon.

But now what? I’ve devoted my last two months to training. I no longer have a goal to work towards, but I’m a creature of habit. Do I keep running regularly, knowing that there’s no race on my horizon? Or do I sign up for another half marathon? It felt great, so maybe I should. Or perhaps I should run a marathon. With proper training, I think I could finish one. For now, though, my legs are sore, and I’m perfectly happy to lie on the couch and write blogs.