PC: Strawberry Plains Half Marathon and 10K

“Are you from Tennessee? Because you’re the only ten I see.” Each time I picture this neighboring state, this cheesy platitudinous pickup line invades my head. I originally considered a different and nearer half marathon in Georgia, but with its online registration closing at an unexpected time and price increasing prior to my receiving a clear answer to a question, I instead added my name to the wait list at the Strawberry Plains Half Marathon on January 30, 2021, in the titular location of Tennessee, nearly a four-hour drive Northeast of my temporary Atlanta residence, and almost immediately was notified of an open spot and to complete registration. While debating whether or not I should, I had three or four consecutive dreams the following morning of thinking I signed up but worrying what if I did not, making me more eager to just do so when I woke up, not to mention this would be my first race in the Volunteer State. I registered past noon, washed running clothes, booked a motel, and drove up to Knoxville, all the day before the event.

Find me! PC: Strawberry Plains Half Marathon and 10K

The organizer’s course video that displayed breathtaking sceneries enticed me, and, even though previous participants have spoken of the vast hills, I accurately predicted the 25-degree start would significantly aid me in overcoming the challenge. Here, I noticed the Atlanta hills I often loathe have been training me for such a course, as I never felt overwhelmed by even the steepest climbs and my pace remained consistent throughout. I continued to chat with and cheer on fellow runners and even volunteers and staff, which boosted my own energy, albeit one may think talking incessantly while running would play an opposite role. After keeping my music volume low enough to be able to hear everything around me for most of the race, I put my earphones in my pocket toward the conclusion to focus on the moment. At the very end, a lady in front of me, who practically maintained the same gap with me for 90% of the run, mistakenly went through the cones when she had to move forward slightly farther before turning left and to the finish. Usually, when one runner goes the wrong way, those behind follow, but here, likely because I had no distraction of music, I was aware and went the correct way; if I would have followed the lady, my perfectionism would have eaten me alive, so I feel relieved for understanding the placement of cones and having studied the course video multiple times.

Considering the constant rolling hills and elevation gain of 607 feet, I am finally content with my official time of 1:54:08, as this proves to me I am gradually regaining my old speed from pre-COVID-19. After receiving a lengthy amazing complimentary stretch and being taught one method of self-stretching from sweet young therapist Ashley, conversing with runners (even one from Lincoln, Nebraska!) and volunteers, and checking out of my motel, I made sure to treat myself a product of Tennessee since I traveled this far and decided on Cracker Barrel Old Country Store prior to driving back to ATL. Spontaneous? Yes. Regrets? Not one iota.

To kick off my 2021 running season, I signed up for the Chilly Willy Half Marathon, hosted in Sugar Hill, Georgia, on January 16, 2021, only a couple of days previously. Given the unpredictability of COVID-19, acknowledging any running event could be canceled at any moment, I generally wait until the last minute to register for any race. This course comprised constant moderate rolling hills that added 551 feet of elevation gain that could have been more challenging in the summer, but I had confidence the starting temperature in the low 30s would provide me with extra energy from not sweating as profusely to cover 13.1 miles without noticeably slowing down.

Running this section twice due to the first-loop fiasco!

The half marathoners were to run the same loop twice, and I naturally followed those in front of me. When I turned around to go back the way I came around 2.5 miles in, I knew something went wrong somewhere, that there must have been a section I missed, but I initially could not figure out where this could have happened. Nearing the midpoint of the loop, out of a circular trail, awaited a sidewalk where half marathoners and 10K runners ran on, made a sharp right turn, and proceeded forward until the respective turnaround, but this sidewalk contained two sites of construction that forced runners to go around and thus many of them instinctively moved to their right onto the road, creating this error; I must have followed. Panicking and demoralized, I turned off my music and filled my head with negative thoughts while moving forward. As I ran back to complete the first lap, I, still clueless, commented to multiple volunteers this did not seem right. When I came back for the second lap, the location where the confusion occurred this time appeared clear with (I believe) the race director standing by. After letting him know, I ran up to and around the half-marathon turnaround cone and down two times to make up for the first time I missed, and, although he told me to turn around sooner prior to going back a second time, I went farther back toward the way I came and where I must have veered off course before turning back around to appease my OCD, which likely ended up costing my performance a minute. On my way back to the circular trail, I told him, “I do not understand how I missed this the first time,” to which he replied that is because the cones had not yet been set up to separate the sidewalk and road just a few feet to the right, which made sense of why participants moved away from the construction and landed on the wrong side. His verbally expressing what I did was “fine” now removed some of my internally freaking out before finishing up the final three miles. With two miles to go, coming out of the other side of the circular trail and back onto the road, I saw one runner cutting that entire trail section and running straight and right in front of me, prompting me to run extra hard to pass him so that he would not end up stealing my place in case he and I shared the same age group. I later observed on the results page the man who finished right behind me in my age group, whether this person or not, lost to me by mere four seconds, so I feel glad I decided to push harder when I did.

Crossing the finish line in 1:55:16, albeit sufficient for gold in my age group of 30-34, I felt somewhat irritated knowing my time would have been in the 1:54 or even 1:53 range without this fiasco, supported by my Garmin that reads 13.22 miles. I again explained this issue and what I did to another one of the race directors, who too confirmed I was “fine,” and two fellow half marathoners separately overheard and revealed they did exactly the same, complete that leg to the turnaround twice during the second lap after missing it the first time. I was just relieved, like they were, I could somehow salvage a race I thought I butchered.

My racing performances since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic have been less than ideal, understandable considering I have not been running as frequently due to being overly cautious of my less-than-100% right foot, Georgia comprises far more hills than where I used to train and race in the Midwest, and I appear to have packed a few unnecessary pounds. When I read the Harmony Half Marathon, taking place in Monroe, Georgia, on December 5, 2020, would be “mostly flat and fast” and the temperature forecast in the 30s and 40s, I registered and set out to redeem myself, even when knowing I would be substantially slower than last year and the year before.

The course, although not overly technical, consisted of constant rolling hills, far from “mostly flat” in my opinion. Still, having run this distance 35 other times in various conditions and temperatures, I felt confident whatever pace at which I begin I would be able to maintain until the end. I had been struggling with pain on the left side of my lower back for the past several days to the point even coughing aggravated the pain, which worried me, but thankfully this did not play a factor. My pace remained consistent, mainly mid-eight-minute-mile, for the first nine miles, so I was caught off guard in the tenth mile when my pace plummeted, as I did not feel any fatigue or my legs slowing down. My speed recovered sufficiently the following mile, but the slowing returned for the next couple of miles, likely attributable to the hills. Furthermore, one man who had been far ahead of me but in sight for most of the race I caught up to with more than two miles to go executed a strategy unknown to me previously, running for a couple of minutes and walking for half a minute. He repeated this, which led many times to my passing him while he walked and his passing me back running. This irritated me, as seeing someone in front walking so much still beating you can be demoralizing. He finished slightly before I and later apologized, suspecting I could have been annoyed. I shot for around 1:52:00, so my official finish time of 1:57:56.2 almost felt like a failure. I just missed out on a podium finish for my age group of 30-34, placing 4th, but one of the workers gave me the award (coaster) anyway and told me to write “4th place” on the back because she had many left. I initially replied, “It’s okay,” but the second time she told me to take it I did with a thank-you. Sweet lady.

Seeing the weekend weather forecast favorable for running, I, only two nights prior to the event, registered for the Viking Dash Half Marathon, held in Fairburn, Georgia, just over 20 miles southwest of Atlanta, on Halloween 2020. I parked my car a quarter of a mile downhill from packet pickup and the starting line and, first walking up through the wet grass route, utterly soaked my only socks and sneakers, not to mention having to walk up, down, and back up right before the run already irritated me for the possibility of unnecessarily wearing myself out. The organizers dealt with confusions with the bibs of those who signed up relatively late, and a cordial lady handing out the bibs initially told me my bib number of 1499, which I knew from the race email, had been given away to someone else and I had to be assigned a new number, which immediately triggered my OCD: “What if my time gets registered to someone else?” Minutes later, the director told her all participants needed their original numbers from the email, after which she gave me my original bib, which she herself was wearing under her sweater for whatever reason.

Second in my age group of 30-39! I look out of place with this shield! 😂

For COVID-19 precautionary measures, every runner was separated about 15 seconds from the next, like a time trial. The race took place in Bouckaert Farm, which resembled a typical cross country course that consists of grass, pebble, typical trails, and hills, in other words, not a fast course. Regardless, I enjoyed overcoming a variety of surfaces for versatility, but aware carelessness could result in rolling my ankles and my right foot to be less than 100% since mid-2019, I focused much of my attention on the placement of my feet especially on the pebble. Towards the end of each of the two loops stood a colossal uphill that stretched about a quarter of a mile, which only moderately affected me the first time but turned me into a tortoise pretending to run with an exaggerated motion, switching gears to be more exact, the second time. My official time reads 1:58:34.3, sufficient for second place in my age group of 30-39. All factors considered, I am content with a sub-2:00:00 half marathon here. The race website states “top 3 in each age group earn a qualifying spot” for the National Championships in Selma, Indiana, on June 19, 2021, so I guess that includes me. Being a national qualifier in anything sounds humbling, but I doubt I will travel that far for a 13.1-mile run.

With moderate loneliness and feeling of purposelessness creeping in and out, I spontaneously considered, to distract myself, participating in a 48-hour event, this time with the objective of running the entire race instead of ending at a specific distance like in April 2017. This plan was unsurprisingly thwarted after prayers, but I was still eager to run a race this weekend to make the most of this rare cool weather in Georgia this time of year. I registered for the Halloween-themed Running Scared 13K, taking place on October 17, 2020, in Dawsonville, only the day before, justifying, “I would run tomorrow anyway. Why not make it a race?”

Individual starts due to COVID-19!

Getting lost has recently become my primary concern in smaller races in which I normally spend a large portion of running alone; therefore, I repeatedly attempted to study the organizer’s course map, which did not help due to the missing of arrows, play option, and any details. Prior to the start, I spoke to multiple people who have been lost here in the past, which worried me even more. This nightmare materialized during the first loop of two, which became especially frustrating because I had been maintaining a swift pace, for me, with an 8:13 first mile. In the middle of mile 3, following the completion of the two extra legs that 13K runners had to complete for each lap, I correctly turned left toward the way I came out to complete these legs. However, when I saw two sets of cones dividing that area and many runners on the other side, I wondered if I was supposed to turn earlier. One lady beside me also running in the 13K did not know either, and I proceeded to ask those nearby, none of whom were signed up for the 13K. Although I was going the right way, I, with the lady, turned around and returned to where the confusion began and asked the young volunteers, who gave different answers. Misinterpreting one of them, I ended up moving likely an additional quarter of a mile, even having to stop for a few seconds, before deciding I had no choice but to return to the route I initially went; the lady wisely did this much sooner than I. Only when approaching the end of the first loop a mile and a half later did I realize I had been running on course the entire time and the puzzlement really stemmed from the lack of 13K participants and the discrepancy in speed among the few of us. Coincidentally, I had a dream a few days earlier of getting lost and frustrated in a running event, almost in this exact scenario.

Other than this mishap costing my race two or three minutes, with my official finish time reading 1:11:42, nothing consequential occurred as a result; the runner who finished one place ahead of me would have easily finished before I regardless, and I caught up to and passed every runner who had passed me while I was panicking and even cussing. One older gentleman and the lady temporarily lost with me both expressed their surprise in my not slowing down in spite of this debacle. Who knows? Maybe this fiasco pumped up my adrenaline and made me run faster than I would have for the remaining miles. How fitting of the event name, as I was quite literally running scared in the short period I thought I could have blown the race. Furthermore, thanks to the unusually cool morning, I had no issue lasting all of ~8.2 miles without a single sip of fluid, thanks to no aid station. I will not brag about my gold in my age group of 30-34 considering I was the sole runner in the category, but nobody needs to know that. 😉

PC: IWeLife

When I participated in the recent half marathon on Labor Day, I already had in mind to follow that up only six days following, on September 13, 2020, with another 13.1-miler in the Tear Drop Half Marathon, where participants take off at the peak of Fort Mountain and descend to Chatsworth City Park. Based on the elevation chart that displays significant downhill running, I assumed the course to be designed for smashing personal records, even though I did not anticipate setting a personal best myself in 80-degree heat; nevertheless, the first four miles that required runners to go down and climb back up rapidly sapped my endurance, in the climbing, as I stubbornly refused to even contemplate a walking break. Just in this early stage opened up an immense gap between those accustomed to intense hills and those not as much. Once I overcame this hurdle, the next seven miles led a steep drop to town, where I quickly recovered from the earlier exhausting miles and let gravity take over while hoping my joints stayed sturdy enough to maintain the rapid speed increase. Made aware of another major hike toward the end by a veteran ultrarunner I know who has run this race in the past, I anxiously waited until I came face-to-face with this giant with nearly a mile to go. While some walked, I kept my head down and carried on running, knowing the finish nigh.

She ran the Donut Dash Half Marathon too and won silver in her age group here!

What racing nonstop causes, haha.

I did not consider sub-2:00:00 a challenge and hoped to come relatively close to my PR, but I from the beginning, with the slower earlier miles from the lengthy climb, recognized the latter would be verging on impossible. I am semi-content with a 1:57:00.6 finish, albeit slightly upset about missing the 1:56 mark by that tiny of a margin. I acknowledge I may have lost a bit of my shorter-distance speed, but I also feel like blaming this on the summer heat and certainly tougher terrains than when I regularly raced in the Midwest. In the midst of these COVID-19 restrictions, I thank God I can continue to pursue at least one activity about which I am passionate.

I generally feel more pressure registering for a half marathon than a shorter ultramarathon, as for the former my finish time and progress matter. Due to the seemingly never-ending COVID-19 restrictions, until recently I had not been as active in racing as standard, and I posited my body to not be at its peak shape for a swift 13.1-miler. Upon arrival at the Labor Day Donut Dash Half Marathon, taking place at the eponymous date in 2020 in Cumming, Georgia, I asked the staff about the hilliness of the course, which one member confirmed without elaborating. Running with bib #333 felt fitting for my 33^rd half marathon, as one of them commented post-race.

The blonde lady to my right is a beast! PC: North Georgia Running Company

PC: North GA Running Co.

Still oblivious to the elevation gains and losses throughout, I had no choice but to go with the flow. Factoring in the heat that made its entrance only a few miles in, I felt relieved I remained on pace to easily finish under two hours for nearly the first half of the race. Then I met a vicious hill that resembled a ski slope and stretched for 0.3 mile. I refused to walk and continued running with an exaggerated arm motion, immediately draining a large portion of my endurance. I recovered this time and found my ideal pace again, but similar relentless hills never ceased to appear one after another, which forced me to change my goal to simply running the entire way, no matter the time, without a walking break. At a certain point, I stopped looking up but rather kept my head down, as I figured much of hill running to be psychological. I repeatedly thought of positive activities to do after, particularly receiving a foot massage, which boosted my morale.

PC: North Georgia Running Company

In most of my races, thanks to my perfectionism, getting lost or even inadvertently barely getting off track wins my primary concern. Especially when a running event includes countless cones, because I have witnessed and personally experienced how confusing they can be, I feel uneasy the entire way. Here, this perhaps irrational worry was justified, as I misinterpreted the cones twice. Around ten miles in, when I made a wide left turn, I moved all the way to the far right of the road and proceeded forward until a faster couple who made the same mistake earlier coming back from a turnaround directed me inward; apparently a car was coming my way. Likewise, on my way back, I redirected a slower couple making the same mistake. With about half a mile left, I made a sharp right turn and saw two minute tunnels (or paths) side by side, the farther one of which had laid out wide apart two cones and the nearer empty, and I took this to mean run through the two cones. As I entered, I saw a volunteer (or an employee) on the other side who calmly told me to just turn right when I exit. When I came out, seeing a sign of a right arrow on the other side, I realized I indeed had gone through the wrong one of the two and yelled, panicking, “Wait, what?” The volunteer again told me to just go through, after which I saw another runner coming out of the same false tunnel and looking confused. Although I probably only took between ten and twenty additional steps with these two minor mishaps, each felt so demoralizing and rapidly sapped my energy that I did not even bother trying to finish strong. I brought this up, how confusing some of these cone layouts could be, to some of the workers of the race, one of whom thanked me for the feedback.

All things considered, a 2:03:21 finish did not feel like a total failure, considering how mind-numbingly, both literally and figuratively, hilly the course ended up being, in the heat, contrary to my expectations when I signed up. If anything, this performance gave me confidence I still have that half-marathon speed that has consistently progressed prior to this pandemic. With the conclusion of my 60^th race since March 1, 2012, I have surpassed 1,000 miles in race mileage. I am still bewildered that I, who used to despise long-distance running more than anything, became someone who cannot imagine living without running. I thank Jesus for carrying me through this milestone without any serious injury.

Although I had planned on taking a respite from running following my recent six-hour race in the heat of ~110 degrees, I covered nowhere near the mileage I expected to and, with my body not needing much time to recover, sought to squeeze in another grinder that could justify a break. When I came across a spontaneous eight-hour event, Miles for Maria Crazy 8’s Night Run for Epilepsy, starting on August 8, 2020, at 8:00 PM from Etowah River Park in Canton, Georgia, I presumed the lack of sunlight would make the race conditions less severe and contacted the race director. He explained the casual setup of the event that was organized to finally gather the running family and celebrate after a long pause due to COVID-19, that the race would not be chip-timed. I immediately fretted how they would manage to accurately manually keep track of every 0.8-mile loop completed by all eight-hour and four-hour participants and decided not to take part, until I saw how respectfully and meticulously the race director replied to each of my questions, even offering me a 10% discount code. I changed my mind and registered, after prayers, of course.

Per CDC recommendations regarding the pandemic, the organizers added about a ten-second gap between every one or two runners. My turn came exactly one minute following the official start, so I had to keep in mind I had one minute less than what my GPS watch displayed to finish my final lap. Additionally, the race did not have a legitimate aid station, again for precautionary reasons; therefore, I relied on my own drinks and gels to fuel me through the night. This nighttime style suits me better than a typical early-morning style, as my insomnia hardly ever lets me fall asleep prior to 4:00 AM anyway. I could feel the presence of the heat and humidity in spite of the absence of sunlight for the vast majority of the race. My earlier Chick-fil-A meal would not digest quickly enough, and I fought an ongoing stomachache for the first three hours, hoping dearly I would not have to make a pit stop and discouraging me from consuming gels as frequently as I had planned. The continuing pain in my feet and frankly boredom of moving in the dark, hardly crossing anyone throughout, made me wonder at times why on Earth I put my body through this prolonged suffering time and time again, paying. I periodically prayed to God out loud for help and reminded myself all of this will come to an end soon, after which I can relax and celebrate. My body does not deal with heat as well as cold, and my struggle made me question if reaching 50K, a distance I could cover under 5:30:00 in the right weather on a course like this, would be in jeopardy. I set a simple goal of comfortably surpassing 50K by the end of 8 hours, whatever that distance may be. With about 45 minutes to go, I thought I could sufficiently cover two more loops; however, once I came back from the second, I saw I had time for one more if I hurried. Knowing this to be certainly my last, I decided to swiftly run the entire way while telling a four-hour runner waiting for her husband to finish, “I can’t believe I have this much energy left. Maybe I should have pushed harder.” Like I normally do, once crossing the start/finish flags, I decided to keep going slightly farther before returning to the tent to socialize and check my result, while my body continued to produce smoke as if I was turning Super Saiyan.

We are socially distanced!

I had no way to track how many loops I completed. I could have tried, but doing so for such a short loop for eight hours felt verging on impossible; thus, I trusted whatever the organizers gave me. The official result reads I covered 44 loops, resulting in 35.2 miles. Once I returned home, I checked my Garmin and followed up with the race director if he could check again, because I thought I may have not quite reached that number based on the Garmin map. He confirmed, by looking again at the tally sheets and tapes, that I did indeed complete 44 loops, reminding me Garmin does not work well on this course. I decided it wiser to trust the word and judgment of the race director over this machine, especially since I already brought up my observation and did my part in being honest, and accept this result. Regardless, my objective of comfortably surpassing the 50K mark was fulfilled, making this my seventh ultramarathon, not to mention finishing third male overall. I am content. Thank You, Jesus!

After several months of hiatus from running events, thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic that forced most to be canceled or postponed, I felt desperate to squeeze one major race in July to make up for lost time and give myself an excuse to finally take a respite from running for my right foot to hopefully completely heal. Following a few rounds of prayers, I decided on a six-hour race at the Barn Blazin’, taking place on July 19, 2020, in Salem, Alabama, and signed up in the final evening of registration just three days prior. The event would take the precaution of commencing in multiple heats, each about a minute apart, amid the coronavirus concerns. I foolishly underestimated the unrelenting heat and humidity I would inevitably battle and remained oblivious to the course’s hills, tall grass, and lack of shades (as well as a venomous serpent some runners encountered and one of them courageously removed); I assumed the course to be entirely flat and comprise hard surfaces that would allow me to run smoothly and swiftly.

PC: Southern Singletrack Trail Series

I drove two hours to the event location the morning of on barely two hours of sleep and entered this literally and figuratively unchartered territory, my first time in Alabama and first time racing in this desert-like climate, determined to reach the ultramarathon distance; nevertheless, I realized this would be verging on impossible from the very first mile, as my legs immediately felt the tiring effect of the uneven trail, not to mention the feels-like temperature ready to rapidly hit nearly 110 degrees. A fellow runner mentioned this day to be the hottest day of the year for Alabama and the radio on my drive to the race warned of the day’s condition. The one-mile loop, actually longer based on the GPS watches of all participants, concludes with a lengthy uphill, and after the first three loops of nonstop running, I wondered why I wasted so much energy running up this hill when I could walk up slightly more slowly with significantly less effort. Once the heat struck its peak and refused to back down, I became concerned my body, especially my head, would react adversely; I do not believe I had ever been exposed to such vicious heat outdoors, and I set out to run and/or move for a quarter of a day in it. I was baffled and entertained simultaneously that oftentimes running provided wind and helped my body feel cooler than walking. I psychologically struggled the most in the first couple of hours but had confidence time would start flying the latter part of the race based on experience, which proved to be true. Perhaps sharing several loops with a fellow Christian lady and discussing various interesting topics with her contributed to this, keeping my mind off the physical exhaustion.

Awesome runners I interacted with throughout the six-hour adventure!

They sting!

Upon completing my thirteenth loop, I discovered the volunteers had iced Coke and Sprite in their cool box, just what I had been pining for for post-race, and I recklessly drank a can of one or the other during every one of the next five laps or so, after which the race director and volunteers cordially did not let me drink any more soda for the remainder because they thought that unwise. I consumed unfathomable amounts of fluids throughout the six hours but never felt the urge to use the bathroom, testament to just how profusely I sweated. My legs had much more to give, evident by my easily passing multiple participants whenever I decided to speed up, but overall I took the race considerably conservatively for fear of heat, which added chafes to parts of my body previously unfamiliar to chafing, painful to say the least. Both of my feet developed major blisters and subungual hematoma under several toenails from the mushy terrain and my fingers swelled to almost double their regular size, worrying me that maybe my face was equally bloated.

I completed 21 loops, 21.45 miles in 5:46:14 according to my Garmin, and both oddly and understandably I did not feel ashamed by this result, given the condition that would have made simply standing (or even sitting) challenging. Merely two out of sixteen six-hour participants crossed the loop finish a minimum of 26 times, implying 87.5% of the field did not even arrive at the marathon distance. As always, I thank Jesus for protecting me throughout yet another one of my foolhardy adventures.

Seeing Atlanta, Georgia, would welcome an unusually cool weather on April 10, 2020, and will return to hot and most likely hotter following, I, in spite of the lingering pain in my right foot and knee, decided to take advantage of this rarity and registered for the virtual Coronavirus Relief Half Marathon, hosted by Virtual Strides. I hesitated to run another virtual race but recognized nobody would have the option to participate in a normal running event for the foreseeable future and also wanted to complete a race exclusive to the current COVID-19 pandemic to look back on down the line. The creative finisher’s medal depicting the coronavirus, hand sanitizer, and toilet paper certainly enticed me. Above all, my most recent embarrassing virtual half-marathon performance last month did not sit well with me and I needed to redeem myself just to feed my ego.

This time, I fueled properly as I do in a regular race and mentally prepared certain routes in my notoriously hilly neighborhood so that I do not accidentally trap myself on solely relentless hills again. I found the major contrast just from these minor adjustments, plus the drop of 20 degrees in temperature, between these two virtual races amusing; physically, the first unexpectedly became one of my toughest half marathons to date, while today’s felt to be one of the smoothest and easiest, so much so that I was tempted to go far beyond what I signed up for. I hit 13.1 miles in 1:58:40, but just in case of the minor inaccuracy of my Garmin, like I do in every virtual race, I kept running and concluded the adventure at 13.54 miles, with an elevation gain of 676 feet, in 2:03:00.6. In a typical race setting, I expect to finish a half marathon around 1:50:00 or under, but running my first comfortably sub-2:00:00 13.1 miles in a run done alone without the help of adrenaline rush felt like a milestone, especially adding the aforementioned injuries that began bothering me four miles in.

Happy Good Friday! Sunday is coming!