We ran.

With about 2.1 million people in the Portland metropolitan area, there are much bigger races than Run Like Hell. For instance, the Portland Marathon, a Boston Qualifier, has nearly 8,000 finishers. The Run Like Hell Half had just over 1,000.

I’m really just making excuses for my lack of conditioning, but I think I had more fun than I would have as a marathoner. I liked the looks of the crowd: Everything from serious runners to runners in costume to serious runners in costume (a personal favorite—nothing got me going this time like seeing Julius Caesar and a goddess sprinting the last half-mile). This race also had the advantage of being held during my fall break. Kismet.

The worst part of the race, by far, was the wait for the start. After dropping husband and T-shirt off at the hotel, I walked the quarter mile back to the start line and waited in my long sleeves and shorts for thirty F-ing frigid minutes. DH’s 5k (along with the Run Like Heck fun run for kids) didn’t start for another hour and fifteen minutes after my race, so I urged him to wait in bed with a Sunday paper until closer to his start time. I was gleeful when the gun went off. Let's get it over with!

Once I got going and warmed up enough to have actual thoughts, I had a little bit of trouble telling what mile I was on. (note to self: bring watch!) The miles were not marked, that I could see, until mile 6, by which point I did not care to think about such things. I focused on one foot in front of the other, and the mantra of “run like hell” proved effective. After I ran through a short tunnel around mile 9, I saw the lead runners coming in the other direction, booking it. It was a quite inspirational sight. After we passed the river, we continued on a slight incline for about 3 miles, probably the toughest part mentally. I thought I would never reach the turnaround. After I did, I just let my body relax and remembered the pace from all those treadmill sessions. I picked someone to follow (Hail, Caesar!), and zoned out until I started hearing the crowd again.

When our pack joined up with the 5k runners, and we rounded the bend toward the finish, I felt exhilarated. I didn’t have much left, but I kicked it and dodged slower 5k-ers to the finish.

I had the best feeling as I dreamily ambled through the slow crowd to give up my chip. I got a little choked up. Months of hard work, boring speed sessions, long Saturday runs, leaving school before the work was done to hit the gym, all for this. The only thing I wanted to do was to see my husband and give him a hug. I was handed a medal, and I walked back and waited for him to cross. Arm in arm, we went to get a beer with our drink tickets (a hoppy Red Hook offering) and shivered together as we talked excitedly about our performances. DH had a PR day, and, of course, so did I.