In 2011, I decided I wanted to run a half-marathon in every state. Combining the two things I loved, traveling and running, seemed ingenious. One thing I realized was there was no better way to see a city than to run through it. Running through streets, downtowns, neighborhoods, state parks, mountains, and everything in between was like seeing into the soul of a city. As I stated in my last blog, I was working on my 17th state last week, which I did accomplish. Up until this point I have run in Tennessee (Nashville), Virginia (Roanoke), Oregon (Portland), Illinois (Chicago), Louisiana (Franklinton), West Virginia (Charleston), Utah (Midway), Colorado (Grand Junction, Aspen, Colorado Springs, Georgetown), North Dakota (Fargo), Georgia (Lawrenceville), California (Santa Cruz), Wyoming (Green River), Texas (San Antonio), Hawaii (Lahaina on Maui), New Mexico (Albuquerque), Nevada (Boulder City), and now Washington State (Oak Harbor on Whidbey Island). Currently on the schedule for May and June is Arizona (There isn’t even a city for that race; it is just GPS coordinates! But it is in Kaibab National Forest.) and Alaska (Anchorage).
When I travel, I will generally drive anywhere that is within 8 hours from me. Anything over 8 hours, and I will usually opt to fly. But there is nothing like a road trip. This last adventure kept me fairly close to home. The drive from Astoria, Oregon to Oak Harbor, Washington State on Whidbey Island was 4 ½ hours. There is nothing quite like the open road. It just happened to be sunny that day. I had the sun roof open, my left leg propped up close to the dashboard, and my music floated out the speakers. The evergreen trees lined the roads and skyline like dutiful soldiers standing tall. Eagles soared in circular patterns never flapping their wings. The sun gently laid her warmth on my skin and the top of my head. (The sun also highlighted how dirty the inside of my windows were.)
En route to my hotel, I stopped at Deception Pass State Park for a hike. I started at Rosario Beach to Bowman Bay and Lottie Bay and up to Lighthouse Point and Vista Point. One thing I noticed was when I was outside, and especially in the woods hiking, it was hard to not breathe deeply. The same air I was breathing was the same air that rustled the tree leaves and blew the blades of grass in a synchronized wave. There was such a peace and relaxation that I just wanted to take it in and be a part of it.
The trail wasn’t overcrowded, but there was a steady amount of people until I arrived to Vista Point. It was there I had the cliff edge all to myself. The silence hung in the air like a framed picture on the wall. The water crinkled and reflected the sunlight, and Mother Nature decided to put on a show. Porpoises arched out of the water breaking the rippling surface. All around seagulls dove at the water surrounding the porpoises, grazing the surface, and pulling back up into flight. The sound of heavy breathing and spraying water caught my attention in the silence as a sea lion swam onto the scene. For quite some time, I sat mesmerized under Mother Nature’s spell; she exposed herself in my own private peep show.
The hike back to the car felt light. I seemed to glide right over the trail, rocks and roots. The path wound around the bay’s shoreline, then dipped into the woods, and then out into a park and open field. The trail picked back up by some campsites where the woods cloaked the trail but occasionally opened like a curtain to showcase the bay, cliffs and islands. The trail eventually led right back to the wooded parking lot.
The other big part of my trip was my half-marathon. It wasn’t sunny on race day, but it wasn’t raining either. The skies were gray and white with just a hint of blue in the backdrop. A strong breeze was blowing in off the bay, and pre-race the runners were hiding behind port-a-potties and buildings to try to block the wind.
The race was released in waves. About 200 people started every 90 seconds; there was about 1,200 runners participating in the half-marathon. I seemed to be surrounded by the half-marathon newbies. It was fun to hear the nervous chatter, and the vows to just survive and never do it again. (I may have uttered those words before my first half-marathon, but I am now 22 half-marathons in, so I don’t think it had much validity).
For each race, I always set three goals. One goal that I know I should be able to accomplish; one goal that is tough and pushes my limits but still within the realm of being possible, and then one final goal that is just out of reach, but hell I never know. Any given race day, right? With my goals in mind, I hovered around the 2 hour and 15 minute pacer before the race began. This race was an out and back on the road that hugged the shoreline. The race started flat for about a mile. Then the road continuously rolled up and down as if it was a wave itself. I decided to not try to stay with the pacer I initially started with and lagged behind. I watched her lean figure with a swinging ponytail get farther away, but I could still see her star-shaped sign she was holding up. That can be hard to do especially for someone like me who is goal-oriented and results-driven. But I decided to run my own race. Halfway through the race, I did pass the pacer. I know I am always a slow starter. Oddly enough, I get stronger as a race goes on. So I always try to keep in mind that I know myself and my own body. A pacer is always an awesome tool to have in a race, but only I know the best way for me to run. I am able to gauge how I am doing around the halfway mark, and then mile 10 is the marker I start to get a good idea of how my race will pan out.
This ended up being my fastest race time since I had knee surgery. My accomplishments are now referred to as pre-surgery and post-surgery. So I guess I had a post-surgery PR. My pre and post-surgery goals and accomplishments have not crossed paths, yet. So they still need their own categories. (That is a discussion for another blog, but there is nothing like tearing your ACL and both meniscus, as well as spraining every other 3 letter acronym in your knee, and then throwing in a cyst for shits and giggles). I took 2 minutes and 28 seconds off my post-surgery PR. It always feels so good to see the finish line sign jutting up above the crowd.
And then realize on this day, I would be accomplishing my goals.