Bright Sky, Dead Headphones: Surviving the 2009 Middle Half

Important confession – I barely trained. Calling what I've done in the past six weeks does a disservice to hard-working runners everywhere.

Aside from a handful of 6-8 miles runs back in July and early August, regular long runs disappeared around the same time Grandma passed away. My running gear went to Montana, but the Tennessee altitude did not; when I ran there, I ran poorly, and never for more than a few minutes, much less miles. In eight days, my lungs could not adapt to these new heights.

The unshakable tired state I have lived in ever since taking the second job I doubted the 8 ragged miles I ran in Brentwood last week would do much to build my endurance again. I had bleak expectations for the Middle Half.

But muscle memory runs deeper than I ever imagined. Knowing the course in Murfreesboro probably helped.

What didn’t were problems that began between Mile 1 and 2. As I propelled along to Don’t Let Me Down by ELO (seriously, you can’t just walk to that song), the right earphone began crackling and died within, cutting out completely during Badlands. I ran last year’s Middle Half without any musical accompaniment, so I expected to survive this setback.

Broken headphones quickly became a minor quibble. The worse diversion was the unexpected deviation from certain morning routines took during this year’s Middle Half. Around Mile 3, part of my body felt wrong. Around Mile 6, I accepted the inevitable, but I held on until Mile 7, when necessity finally found a short line. Give me back the 15 minutes loss by standing in line, and I could have challenged last year’s time. At 2 hours 37 minutes, I challenged no one but myself. But through 10 miles I barely stopped, aside for the aforementioned necessity.

At Mile 10, I allowed myself a break, which evolved into a mistake. Walking for 100 feet unraveled the pace I resumed for the past three miles, and I struggled for the last three. Running wherever I could, and stopping with more frequency once inner thigh cramps forced me into abrupt stretching breaks after Mile 11.

I had no last minute burst of runners’ fury to spirit me across the finish line. I took my finisher’s medal, a plate of bananas, orange slices and power bars, then let my muscles stiffen during the 40-minute triumphant ride home.

I had conquered this flat course again, running anonymously aside from the shout-out my financial adviser offered gave as he tore into Mile 4. Anonymity often helps with big races – there’s no one to impress, and more than enough people cheering for all passersby.

I get redemption in two weeks. The Columbus Half Marathon, which once seemed so implausible a goal, awaits me on Sunday the 17^th. In 2006, I fretted over moving from 5Ks to 5 milers. Now, the signature race I wanted to run for the past two years finally crawls close on the calendar.

If I don’t get it there, I have less than six weeks from Columbus to December, when the St. Jude Marathon spills into the streets of Memphis. Like Murfreesboro, both downtown Columbus and Memphis are relatively flat, so those half-marathon will compare favorably.

With half marathons, the chance at besting an old time or fixing a flawed training program never sits too far away.

More importantly, I have chance to reschedule my bodily functions to keep them from knocking me off pace.