Seacoast Half Recap

Today, the cramming came to an end, as team "Rock(y)ing the Coast" completed its inaugural half marathon.

In that crew, we had the following (see photo, from left to right):
Jared: 1st half marathon
Shane: 1st half marathon
Abby: 3rd half marathon, one marathon completed
Tony: 2nd (?) half marathon
Kate: 5th (?) half marathon, one marathon completed
Tara (see below): Several half marathons, at least one marathon to her credit
Kristin (not shown): 1st half marathon

Of this crew, we each ran our own race, and of course, I can only tell you about mine--but before I get into that, take a moment to consider the HUGE accomplishment the two first-times achieved today. Not only did Kristin and Jared complete the farthest distance either of them has ever run before, but both of them finished strong in a difficult race. Congratulations to both of you!

Now for my story...

Having (again) gotten up too early, Jared and I arrived early at the Portsmouth H.S., and snagged a clutch parking spot near the entrance--not such a big deal before the race...but, oh, after...it is a little treat to only walk a short way to the car for the trip home.

Teammate Tara Kelly (see photo at right, center) happened on us as we lounged in the school entrance, ostensibly stretching. There, she regaled us with tales of what seems to be her utter awesomess--Tara, a very small, pretty woman, is also into lacrosse, and mixed martial art. Like Jujitsu.

Good God.

We weren't able to run into any other teammates before or after the race, but we did happen across the stellar fan base three times--once taking our leave of them with the sweet strains of "Eye of the Tiger" blaring at us.

The first miles were hard and fast, as I was chomping at the bit, yearning to stretch my legs on the course. Jared reminded me a few times, and finally at about four miles, I listened to his honest comment--the pace I had set wouldn't hold for long, and I was cruising for an early burnout.

It was this realization that saved me, I think. We churned through another mile, me keeping myself in check. At 5 miles, Jared mentioned he'd loosened up. I agreed, and we found ourselves cruising along at a comfortable pace for the next several miles.

True to form...at around 9 miles, it got harder. I'm not sure what it is about this mileage. Give me 8, even 8.5, and I am happy. Tired, but happy, and floating on my runner's high. The fickle, fickle high, however, seems to abandon me between 9-11 miles EVERY TIME...and Sunday was no different, as it took all of my effort and the gentle haranguing of my beloved to keep me moving and motivated.

Still, with 2 miles to go, we were maintaining a comfortable cruise, and were nearing the last two, beautiful mile markers...

Less than one to go, and I looked up at Jared's comment to see it--a hill. A big hill. My Everest, and Jared's Mass Ave bridge. He put the screws to it, leaning into the hill like a lover, while I attached it angrily as a foe. We both reached the top, and as we rounded the corner, I saw the clock, ticking along at 2:01, the second invisible to me. I grabbed Jared's arm, and urged him to run, knowing we were so close to the thin, scraping edge of a PR, and unsure if we would make it.

He didn't question at all, taking off like a shot. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to hold pace with my other half, as we pushed each other across the finish line in 2:01.36--about a minute faster than my last half. Next time, we plan to destroy the 2-hour barrier. Jared's caught the bug now, I think, and there'll be no stopping him...