My First Half Marathon: One For The Books

I don't think I would classify my story as a joyful story. I also wouldn't call it a horror story. It just simply is, and after you read it, I'll let you decide what to call it. That being said, let me tell you about my first half marathon.

 The morning started early. In fact, it started much earlier than this picture that has 5:54AM on it. Our 7mo old had gotten up several times during the night and let me just say that out of fear that I would become dehydrated during the race, I made sure to drink about 8ish ounces every time I got up. I also drank about 12 ounces before we left for the race, properly hydrating and feeling good! We had eaten grilled chicken and vegetable kebobs for dinner the previous night, which proved to be a good pre-race meal. I had actually gotten a decent amount of sleep for me, despite having to get up to nurse Duke in the middle of the night. I was ready to go!

Once we found a spot on the Bentonville square, I took a few moments to use my rolling stick, while Hunter went to the bathroom and met up with some friends. Hunter and I have about a minute difference in our paces, so it's no big deal that we didn't run together. After putting my shoes and gloves on (it was a brisk 40ºF that morning), I stepped out into the cool morning and found our friends on the square. I lost track of time chatting with others that before I realized it, we were making our way over to the start. One of our friends invited me to run with her and her friend who would pace us at a 9:09min/mile to get us right at a 2 hour finish. Perfect.

At this point, I knew I should have peed. I should have just found a port-a-potty, or an actual bathroom, and peed, but I wrote it off as pre-race jitters and prayed it would go away.

This year was the largest race Bentonville Half has had so far with over 3,000 people registered for the half marathon and the 5K. This meant that from the start, all of us were weaving in and out on a 2 lane road. At the 1 mile mark, I heard my phone tell me my split: 10:30. My first thought was "Ugh, now I have to spend the rest of the time playing catch up." Remember, a 9:09 pace will bring me to a sub 2 hour finish, which was one of my goals.  Nine out of the next 10 miles were all under a 9:09 pace, and I was feeling great! Fantastic, really. And that was probably the last of the fantastic feelings.

**Now, I've heard a lot of stories- stories all about peeing while you run or pooping while you run, or vomiting while you run. I know what can happen with bodily functions, but I don't think I prepared mentally that it would happen to me. Don't get me wrong, I know my story is a normal story to many runners, and I am in no way ashamed of what happens next, so no hard feelings if you stare at these words in awe or through your tears of laughter. Believe me, I'm laughing right there with you. 


Around mile 8.5, my bladder knocked on my door.

It was a gentle knock at first, just a few drops here and there. And as a mother of two, trust me when I say that it's true what they say about having kids and your post-natal ability to control your pee. I know there are pelvic floor exercises you can do to help, but let's be honest. Sometimes pee just happens! I know all my fellow moms know what I'm talking about, and I can feel your nods of understanding and my heart thanks you.

So back to our story. I make it through miles 9 and 10 at a sub 9:09 pace, which is a bit of a relief because these are my least favorite miles of the course.

By the time I get to mile 11, I have a pretty steady trickle of pee running down my leg. I can stop it for a few seconds at a time, but at this point I know I have less than 3 miles and about 300ft. to climb until the finish line, so I'm giving it all I've got, and all I've got doesn't account for holding in pee. Hallie and Hannah (my friends who I said I would run with but then didn't run with cause I'm a terrible person) come up behind me and ask how I'm doing, to which I respond, "Don't mind me, just peeing a bit!" At this point, I'm glad I could make them laugh (which i heard through my headphones), because if you can't laugh at yourself peeing on yourself, then what kind of life are you living?

Finally we make it to "The Hill." The dreaded Crystal Bridges Hill. It starts at mile 12. Only 1.1 miles left. That's it! There is a light at the end of the tunnel, and it is only 1.1 miles away. 

Someone terrible has designed this course though, putting that hill at the very end. It makes me doubt my sanity. It makes me want to quit. It makes me want to cry, really, but most of all it makes me have to pee like no other. Every step is like a fist pounding on the door that is my bladder. I make it through the Crystal Bridges Hill and can see the Compton Gardens Hill. Yes, you read that correctly, there are TWO hills to end these 13 miles. Terrible. Just terrible. 

This is when I lose it. I simply can not go on. I am battling myself in my mind as I have never stopped on a run and I have half a mile left. 

HALF A MILE. 

But alas, duty calls. 

You know it's bad when you have half a mile left, and you have to stop running to pee. I had to stop because at this point I was basically full out peeing and I just knew my shorts were dripping with pee and most likely getting the people behind me wet with pee, so what the heck, let's just pull on over and pee. If it tells you how exhausted I was, I didn't even bother to go behind a tree, or even more than two feet away from the trail. I could probably have high-fived people from where I was standing, but I do have some dignity. 

So there I am, not-so-nonchalantly pretending to stretch my hamstring as I just straight up peed. Peed into my socks and shoes. Peed everywhere. Not like a little bit of pee. LIKE A GALLON OF PEE (or so it seemed). 

It was enough pee to make me feel as if I was splash-sploshing my way back into a jog. 

I make it through the next .3 miles and can see the finish line. Now, to know me is to know that in a physically challenging situation like this, I will push myself to the limit. 

We recently watched (for the third time) a documentary on Netflix called, "The Barkley Marathons." (Side note: if you haven't watched it, you should because it is one of the best documentaries I have ever seen). In it, one of the runners says that at the end of the race (I'm paraphrasing here), he wanted to know that he could not have gone any faster, or done any better than he did. And with that on my mind, I ran as hard as I could and left it all out on the course. I crossed the finish line at 2:03:55. The world is spinning and I can feel my feet barely catching my weight. I can only walk with a slant to the right. I am exhausted. 

A volunteer worker comes over and suggest I sit in a wheel chair and It's all I can do to reply, "Okay," unable to crack a joke about my pee pants.

My eyes are hardly open, but I know that I need to keep up conversation to keep up consciousness. 

After what feels like forever, the nice man walks me over to get my chip cut off my shoe (and all I can think is that some poor lady just had to touch my pee shoes), get my medal and walk me to the medical tent, where I sit for some time.

I called Hunter and through my tears, asked him to come get me.  

Being the wonderful husband that he is, he consoles me, congratulates me and encourages me. He is more than wonderful. 

30 minutes pass and I am finally ready to conquer the finishing corral to get my finisher's hoodie and find our friends. At this point I am back to normal Alex and can laugh at what I just experienced. Next year's race is TBD. I may just be a bystander, cheering on everyone else- especially those who peed their pants along the way. 

While I didn't achieve my goals of finishing sub-2 hours (chip time of 2:02:00), nor finishing without stopping, nor running the last 3.5 miles at a somewhat normal pace, nor beating Hunter, I am happy with how everything turned out. It really wasn't that bad. I mean, it could have been worse, right?

Overall, the only way I can describe it is to say that it was "quite the experience". 

Family photo (Not pictured, my bare feet)

Hallie, who is a better runner than I, and a wonderful encourager.

Community groups who run together experience the same pains together

Me, Hallie, Lauren and Kaite. Girl Power! 

Let me tip my hat:

I could not have done it without Hunter, my husband; our community group, who are the best friends we could ask for; everyone who has supported and encouraged me through all the training; Kayla, the kind PT who watched me, talked with me, and made sure I didn't pass out in the medical tent; And a special thanks to my two best friends from high school, Dana and Lindsay, who drove all the way down here to visit us and take care of our two boys for us while we ran. This experience could not have been possible without you!