13.1

I had it all ready, handpicked and timed to perfection.  Each song flowed nicely into the next, and each was peppy and fun.  I plugged my Ipod into my computer, and left it over night.  I was ready.

Then I walked out of my room for a quick stroll just before bed, the night before my 10K run.  I immediately ran into Randy Ban, the Director of Arise, the Bible College I’m currently attending.  He informed me that Casey Barrett, our resident Aussie, was sick and could not run the half marathon he had signed up for.  And suddenly, I found myself offering to take the half marathon if he could find someone to take my 10K.

He did.

The next morning I got up (well, to be perfectly accurate, my roommate woke me up…twice) and got dressed.  I unplugged my Ipod and went out to eat breakfast. 

At the race line, I plugged the Ipod in and found that I had forgotten to sync the new playlists to my Ipod.  But no time to problem solve-the bell sounded and we were off.

And Fernando Ortega lulled me along.

I was trying to keep up with Randy-he was planning to run 8:20 miles, which would put him over the finish line at under 1:50:00.  The first two miles were pretty fun.  It was a chill day, full of clouds, but no rain.  I loped along beside him, feeling quite young and long-legged and invincible. 

Just so you know, I’m not.

I started to flag around the fourth mile.  But I kept pushing, forcing my legs to churn, churn, churn up the concrete.  At the halfway point we were at 54:40.  But life was not good.

I almost hung on until the nine-mile mark.  Randy looked back at me with a long, pitying glance, then turned and continued.  He didn’t look back again.

I kept up a decent pace until I was just three miles out.  Then I could hardly keep myself from walking.  My miles were sludging away to the tune of about 10 minutes each.  Then, somewhere between the twelfth and thirteenth markers, my mind won.  My watch told me there was no way I would break 2:00:00, and my legs hurt. 

I started walking.  As old ladies began to pass me, I hung my head in shame.  Then, just ahead I saw the thirteenth mile marker.  It took every ounce of willpower I had, but I managed to start trotting forward again.  Then I was jogging.  Then I was running.

The finish line appeared as I rounded a corner, and I began to sprint.  It felt strange-I had nothing to give in my legs, but I was floating over the ground, almost as gracefully as a butterfly. 

At least, that’s how it felt.  I’m glad there’s no video, because without one I can keep on believing that I really did look like one of those Kenyan macho men in the Olympics as I charged across the finish line.  It felt glorious.

Then David Asscherrick, one of our instructors, informed me of my time: 1:58:45.  A very good day, despite my current inability to walk, and the fact that I’m going to be going door to door for several hours starting in…52 minutes.  Ugh.