race day.

So, I ran a race the other day. 

This year I ran my first ever half marathon. That would be 13.1 miles (or 21.2 kilometres, whichever sounds more impressive). I have to say, It was perfect race conditions. All week had been unmercifully windy, and I was nervous that I wouldn't have the stamina for it. But it was a light, cool, sunny, perfect 18 degrees with just a touch of wind. Couldn't ask for more. 

I've been training for the past 10 weeks for this, so you think I'd feel prepared. Everything I read said 'trust your training' or 'don't worry, the miles are behind you and will carry you through the race', but on Saturday morning, as I stood among seven thousand other runners, I couldn't help but feel shaky and nervous. 

I know, the photo quality on my phone leaves something to be desired, but right after the racing gun went and we started trotting forward, the clouds broke and it was nothing but blue skies and harsh sun and perfection. 

I was shooting for a sub-2:00 race, and I didn't make it. Not even close. 2:08 and change was my time. I struggled at mile 8 with nausea, and as I paced my way into mile 10 I hit a hill and a wall. 

BUT I DID IT. 

Though disappointed in it at first, that time is mine. All mine. Earned, inch by inch, and getting through it as you do life: by putting one foot in front of the other, stubbornly, determined, perhaps slightly mad. 

As in insane. Because you have to be to voluntarily run those distances as your weekend entertainment. And yet, be careful, because it's addictive. I'm already eying the Paris half in March and the Shakespeare full in April (how could you not!? Come on, a Shakespeare Marathonnnn). 

And besides, now I have a time to beat.