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I came. I saw. I ran. And it turned out to be a great experience.  The Madison half marathon started out, months ago, as a motivational goal for me.  You know, the kind of goal that sounds good to have but you’re secretly relieved at how far out on the horizon it seems.  So far out that you can brag about training for it but you know you won’t ever actually have to go do it.  The end of May will never come.  Well, it came.  I’d been training.  Maybe not quite as hard there in the last month as I’d meant to, but my training had been respectable up to that point.  Then, the week before the big day came, I got whomped in the knee with a hurley at my first hurling match of the season.  Sporting an impressive bruise and swelling that would have worried, well, nearly anyone, I contemplated whether this was an excuse not to go run 13.1 miles after all.  I spent the first half of the week limping around hopefully, wondering if I looked tough and really wondering how tough I felt.  Time ebbed by and my bruise changed colors a few times.  The swelling went down and I realized that this wasn’t going to be enough to stop me.  Right.  Off to Madison I went.  No excuses now.

Arriving at the starting line on a grey and misty morning, I took my place near the back of the pack with a timing chip on my shoelace and a number pinned to my front.  Many announcement, much shuffling of runners, and some fanfare filled those last few minutes before the gun.  And finally-the countdown.  The starting gun popped, the crowd cheered and…nothing.   There were so many of us that nobody could move back where we were until those in front got going.  I didn’t actually reach the start line until 4 minutes after the official start of the race!

The excitement and energy of the gathered crowd was infectious.   I’ve always been a loner on my practice runs, hiding in my own little world with headphones firmly in place.  I didn’t expect to like being elbow to elbow with my fellow runners.  I thought it would be distracting and irritating.  A funny thing happened.  The slapping sound of the rubber literally meeting the road mesmerized me.  I was surprised at how pleasant was the thumping of thousands of shoes on concrete.  Hundreds and hundreds of people around me were doing just the same thing I was doing, each for themselves but certainly not alone.  That sound was the neatest surprise and the most oddly memorable moment of the whole experience.  A strange sound to me, unexpected, but it seemed to say everything.  I also hadn’t foreseen how much encouragement the onlookers provided.  People shout, clap, ring bells for you, any of you, all of you.  I found it especially touching as the race wore on.  It meant something when people were still standing there, cheering strangers on, even though you knew the frontrunners must have gone by an hour since.

The race route provided some delightful surprises.  And thankfully, no outrageous hills.  I’m an unapologetic hater of hills.  The roadblocks were wreaking havok on traffic routes through the city but the motorists sitting stopped at intersections for us invariably smiled and waved.  I’d like to think I’d be so friendly when inconvenienced.  I enjoyed the college kids playing drums and accoustic guitars in front of their rented digs.  The breeze off the lake sure was nice as the miles wore on and on.  I smiled and stuck my hand out for all the little kids I passed who stuck theirs out to slap 5 with any runner who would.  The beer stop somewhere around mile 7 made me laugh.  And linger. I walked just long enough to enjoy that thoughtfully provided beverage…o.k, two of them.  I’m never going to win one of these things; the best I can hope for here is folk hero status, I’m afraid.  The Hash House Harriers were out around mile 8 and they whooped and hollered when I shouted out the name of my Hash group in greeting.  I couldn’t get over how encouraging the whole city seemed to be and how nice it felt to be one of the many, many individuals sweating up and down the streets, along the lakeshore, and all the way to the end.

And after?  I was sore.  A little creaky.  Nothing a little ibuprofen and TLC wouldn’t handle, though.  A couple days later I’ve bounced back beautifully and feel right as rain.  And ready to do this again.  How neat!  Not only did I survive it, I really enjoyed it.  For all my training and all my talking, I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be able to do it, much less walk the next day.  I’m on the lookout for my next half marathon, now.  My time this round was better than I’d expected, but I bet I can do a little better still on the next try.  Fox Cities, here I come! ~DG