In October of 2016 I was set to go down to New Orleans to visit my friend and run my first half marathon – the New Orleans Jazz Half. He’d already done it four or five times. I started a training program – the first one that came up in the google search for “half marathon training.” My routine up until that point was running the occasional Prospect Park loop and that was always challenging. But after a few weeks of training, after running slowly and stretching to longer distances, I could feel myself improving. It felt good.
I went to Paris a few weeks before I was supposed to run the half. I brought my running shoes so I wouldn’t break my routine. I ran along the banks of the Seine, which I thought was the coolest thing ever. The day after I got back, I got up in the morning and ran two Prospect Park loops like it was nothing. I was in the zone. In that week, including the Paris trip, I estimated that I had run about eighteen miles which is more than I had run ever in my life.
The next day, I decided to continue my quest to learn to ollie on a skateboard. While jumping, I felt something pop in my left calf and I couldn’t walk for a week. Training was busted. I recovered enough to run a 5K in New Orleans but I was pissed that I missed my goal.
Last year, I didn’t sign up for the New Orleans Jazz Half because I couldn’t afford it. I still have the shirt from 2016 that says half marathon but I know that I only ran a 5K. This must be corrected.
I often wonder how much I choose to do and how much I do because I’m living in accordance with my environment and peer group. I don’t ever really remember choosing to start running. A lot of my friends run and I see their post-run pictures on social media. I’ve cheered them on at the NYC Marathon. A few years ago I saw that a bunch of them ran the Brooklyn Half.
This year, for whatever reason, be it a sense of finishing what I started or the strong power of suggestion from the behavior of those around me, I knew I had to sign up for the Brooklyn Half Marathon.
I knew it would sell out fast. I think all the spots went in ten minutes last year. I set two alarms on my phone for January 31st, 10 minutes and 5 minutes before noon, when the race went on sale. It was 11:59AM. The button on the webpage said “Advance Registration.” It was supposed to switch over to “Sign Up” or something but after the clock struck 12:00, the site slowed to a crawl. I opened multiple browsers and kept refreshing and it felt like the internet was clogged with molasses.
I was messaging people online who were also trying to sign up. “Are you in? The button hasn’t changed!” “Just click it anyway.” “I did click it! Nothing’s happening!” “Once you click it, choose the race.” “I just clicked it, nothing’s happening!” “You’ll get a pop up. Just complete the registration.” “Are you in?” “Yeah, I got in.” “Nothing’s happening!” “I just heard from Liz. Liz is in!”
It was like the scene in the completely inaccurate cyber thriller – probably starring John Travolta, Nic Cage, or both – in which someone has to hack something or enter a code in order to prevent nuclear war.
“God dammit, I’m not… Wait… I selected the race, I repeat, I selected the race…” “Are you in?” “I don’t know! I put my credit card info in but there’s no confirmation email.” “Check your statement online, there should be a pending charge.” I went over to check. (I was at work this entire time by the way.) “There is a pending charge. I repeat, there is a pending charge!”
It was 12:10. I got in. I will be running the Brooklyn Half Marathon in May. I have to be really careful that I don’t get injured. I’ve got to take care of my calves.
Years ago, I told myself that I was going to run a marathon at 35 without ever really doing anything about it. This spring, at 41, I’ll run my first half marathon. I can’t tell if that’s a metaphor for life or just a metaphor for my life.
