Guest AuthorLast year, I ran the Gasparilla Half-Marathon in Tampa for the first time. The race began perfectly. That morning was just the perfect kind of chilly at the 6 a.m. start. I stepped into the first corral, which felt right because my two previous half-marathons were sub-2.
That’s annoying Runner Speak for “under two hours.”
Ready to get mine.
Off we went and soon the weather got warmer as the sun rose over Bayshore Boulevard.
Right around mile 5, my knees buckled. By mile 9, I almost quit because, turns out, in order to run, you do need two properly functioning legs and a healthy back. But I hobbled over the finish line anyway, and that’s when I promised myself I’d be back in 2016.
The Gasparilla Half-Marathon is this weekend and I can almost feel my knees buckling again. Here are three things I did differently this year, so maybe I’ll be OK.
I don’t care about speed.
Last year, I went too fast, too quickly. I hired a few professional coaches and trained like a mad woman.
This year, I did my own thing. Sure, I had intermittent help from coaches and some well-meaning friends. But I didn’t go crazy and over-train. I got out and ran because I wanted to and picked a schedule that made sense.
Which is cool, because the nerve damage in my legs finally healed and it made the whole “healthy outdoor” thing fun again.
Music sometimes helps.
When I ran the Boston Marathon, I didn’t listen to any music. The crowd in each town, and the music they blasted from loudspeakers, carried me along. Interacting with spectators was part of the experience.
Along the Gasparilla route, a path I run several times a month, the experience is a bit different. There’s a spot where the homeless shout at each other about boundaries. There’s another area where the beautiful Bay smells like the eggs my sons sometimes burn because they get lost in a compelling Ty Dolla $ign video and forget to turn off the stove.
No disrespect to Tampa, but Natick, Massachusetts it ain’t. So maybe a little Beyoncé couldn’t hurt, right around that mile where you need a little oomph and forget to breathe through your mouth.
Listen to that inner voice, the sane one.
Exactly one week before Gasparilla, I ran a trail for the first time. Running a trail so close to a race you’ve trained for is a special kind of stupid.
I almost fell 48 times.
Between the rocks, roots, tree branches, spiders and kamikaze death bugs (I have no idea their true name) it’s a wonder I finished the 8-mile run at all. After that experience, I decided my first trail run would also be my last.
I don’t know. Call me crazy, but I like my running injury-free.
Every time I lagged behind the other runners through that god-forsaken scrub brush they call a county park, I had flashbacks to “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.” As a kid, I was made to watch that show and the enduring lesson?
Slow pokes get eaten.
Every time I heard a noise behind me, I thought about alligators, wild boars or face-eating flakka addicts. Because Florida.
Despite the fear of impending doom, I slowed down. Every time someone said, “Look at the sky – how beautiful,” I kept my eyes down and on the lookout for something that would take me down, twist an ankle and ruin my hopes for a decent Gasparilla finish.
Somehow, I made it out alive.
Never. Again.
I’m not sure if any of this means I’ll have a successful race on Sunday. But I do know that I feel better going into it this year and, at the very least, I’ll have fun and listen to some good songs along the way.
That’s already better than hobbling.
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Catherine Durkin Robinson co-parents twin sons, organizes families for advocacy purposes, writes syndicated columns, mentors kids, runs a few races and collects complaints. Column courtesy of Context Florida.
