Father's Day Half Marathon
I was training for a half marathon. I have always been a runner but I had never spent more than an hour and a half jogging. To be completely honest, I didn´t think I was capable of making it. Plus, since I came back to Mexico, I haven´t been able to jog as much as I did in New Orleans. I was kind of disappointed I could´t do it as easily as I used to and I was just angry at these facts but couldn´t reconcile with them.
Finally, a month or so ago, I went to a 5k run. It was in the middle of the mountain and I felt terrible, I even injured one of my feet and hated the trail. I promised myself I would never jog again under such unfavourable conditions. Right after that, an invitation to run the half marathon from my cousin became unavoidable.
I trained for three or four weeks, no more than that. I have an ironman friend whose expertise led me through the weeks of speed and pulsations, energy and calories, complicity and compromise at the beautiful Mexican countryside.
It´s funny how, some decisions I make without fully realizing their meaning. I prepared myself for this, bought the appropriate gels, filled my small bottles with the right liquids, and stuck or wrapped every chip and tag in place of my gear. But it was until I was in the middle of the crowd, with my heartbeat hitting roof that I realized what I was about to do.
I knew the trail because it was along the Periferico, in the southern part of Mexico City, where I grew up. I was told I had to be careful for the first part, that most people went downhill thinking it was the easy part but when they came round the first 10k, the slow uphill would beat them down around the 15k.
I said goodbye to my iron-friend and parted on the start line. I was trying to settle my heartbeat down because I was too excited and wanted to jog faster but I held myself to the words of advice and kept it slow. I started to get into the zone I used to get when I was in New Orleans. Internal conversations went through my mind, are my knees ok? Should I hydrate more? Next time I will have a lighter breakfast... so on and so forth.
Little kids on the street held their hand stretched so you could high-five them, women had plastic clapping hands and shouted: "You´re not only handsome but you are also a runner!"
On the other side of the street I heard a roar, the first place was already coming back! I tried to focus to what I was doing and kept saying to myself this is your race, no one else´s.
Ten k, I was feeling good, came to a roundabout and thought, now comes the part I was told about, the suffering part. Sure enough, the trail had become a passive aggressive road, I could feel a slight ascent in the back of my legs, my heartbeat went upwards as well.
"Are you tired yeeeet?" someone from the crowd shouted, runners answered "Not yeeeet", then the same person "Well then, move aside 'cause some of the women are moving forward!"
Around 16k I started feeling tired... I looked up and a bystander stretched out his hand and said, "You're almost there, you can do it". As I clasped my hand towards his, he took it for a second on both of his hands and reiterated "You can do it!"
On my right, I could see the church where I made my first communion. A stranded memory came over me... I also sang on a chorus i that same church when I was in school. That made me smile for another k.
I reached 18k and with it my elementary school and high school. Other memories flooded my brain, it reminded me of how far had I had come along. It was as if I had broken the structure of what was expected of me and I had done exactly the opposite. My still best friends faces appeared smiling in the back of my mind.
The last two kilometres were the hardest ones. I thought for a minute, I wasn't going to be able to make it but for the first time in my life I questioned that voice. Why? Did something hurt to be insufferable? Was I loosing my breath? Nope to all of them. Then, why was I not going to be able to do so? By the time I reached the circled part on the map, I started crying and venting, I knew I was going to make it and I didn't stop. My dad, that reminisced entity had come along, my brother was jogging somewhere at the same race, I had a coin which had brought the essence of my mother along and my cousin was waiting on the sideline. I had made it, I had brought myself back and forward. But not alone, thank you ironMoy for that trip side by side, from the dark to the light.
Finally, a month or so ago, I went to a 5k run. It was in the middle of the mountain and I felt terrible, I even injured one of my feet and hated the trail. I promised myself I would never jog again under such unfavourable conditions. Right after that, an invitation to run the half marathon from my cousin became unavoidable.
I trained for three or four weeks, no more than that. I have an ironman friend whose expertise led me through the weeks of speed and pulsations, energy and calories, complicity and compromise at the beautiful Mexican countryside.
It´s funny how, some decisions I make without fully realizing their meaning. I prepared myself for this, bought the appropriate gels, filled my small bottles with the right liquids, and stuck or wrapped every chip and tag in place of my gear. But it was until I was in the middle of the crowd, with my heartbeat hitting roof that I realized what I was about to do.
I knew the trail because it was along the Periferico, in the southern part of Mexico City, where I grew up. I was told I had to be careful for the first part, that most people went downhill thinking it was the easy part but when they came round the first 10k, the slow uphill would beat them down around the 15k.
I said goodbye to my iron-friend and parted on the start line. I was trying to settle my heartbeat down because I was too excited and wanted to jog faster but I held myself to the words of advice and kept it slow. I started to get into the zone I used to get when I was in New Orleans. Internal conversations went through my mind, are my knees ok? Should I hydrate more? Next time I will have a lighter breakfast... so on and so forth.
Little kids on the street held their hand stretched so you could high-five them, women had plastic clapping hands and shouted: "You´re not only handsome but you are also a runner!"
On the other side of the street I heard a roar, the first place was already coming back! I tried to focus to what I was doing and kept saying to myself this is your race, no one else´s.
Ten k, I was feeling good, came to a roundabout and thought, now comes the part I was told about, the suffering part. Sure enough, the trail had become a passive aggressive road, I could feel a slight ascent in the back of my legs, my heartbeat went upwards as well.
"Are you tired yeeeet?" someone from the crowd shouted, runners answered "Not yeeeet", then the same person "Well then, move aside 'cause some of the women are moving forward!"
Around 16k I started feeling tired... I looked up and a bystander stretched out his hand and said, "You're almost there, you can do it". As I clasped my hand towards his, he took it for a second on both of his hands and reiterated "You can do it!"
On my right, I could see the church where I made my first communion. A stranded memory came over me... I also sang on a chorus i that same church when I was in school. That made me smile for another k.
I reached 18k and with it my elementary school and high school. Other memories flooded my brain, it reminded me of how far had I had come along. It was as if I had broken the structure of what was expected of me and I had done exactly the opposite. My still best friends faces appeared smiling in the back of my mind.
The last two kilometres were the hardest ones. I thought for a minute, I wasn't going to be able to make it but for the first time in my life I questioned that voice. Why? Did something hurt to be insufferable? Was I loosing my breath? Nope to all of them. Then, why was I not going to be able to do so? By the time I reached the circled part on the map, I started crying and venting, I knew I was going to make it and I didn't stop. My dad, that reminisced entity had come along, my brother was jogging somewhere at the same race, I had a coin which had brought the essence of my mother along and my cousin was waiting on the sideline. I had made it, I had brought myself back and forward. But not alone, thank you ironMoy for that trip side by side, from the dark to the light.
Right after the goal, I was on my way back to get home. People were cheering at runners that were still coming in. A blind runner was jogging besides another person who was jogging by his side. And finally Don Jorge, a man around 80 with two walking sticks getting step by step closer to the goal. I couldn't stop crying. There are no excuses to what the human spirit can accomplish, it all comes down to either you trained or you didn't, either you kept going after the inner struggle or did you give up and none of these people who have it harder than anyone else, stopped.
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