Sometime last year, after completing the Brooklyn Half-Marathon, I was talking with a friend about the race, and he kept referring to it as a "mini-marathon". I let it go, because, you know, whatevs. But, after he said it a few times, I interjected, maybe more than a little tersely, "you know, there's nothing all that mini about 13 miles".
It's been a year, and in that year I'd somehow convinced myself that this race was a breeze. My memory played that trick where it scrubs away all the difficult, not wonderful parts. As I ran it again last Saturday, I was reminded that there is, in fact, nothing mini about 13.1 miles.
My race time was good, about 30 seconds slower than last year. I choose to believe it was the heat, and not that I might just be slower. But, I loved it, and I accomplished my two goals for every race: (1) I ran every step of it, and (2) I didn't throw up.
The race began at Prospect Park (annie, we did the hill twice) and finished at Coney Island. Andy (who was waiting at the end) reported that he saw a runner crossed the finish line with a Nathan's hot dog held aloft.
The picture above is Shiloh and I before the race, looking fresh and excited. Shiloh's blog has the pictures of us after the race, looking not as fresh, but still excited.
This picture here is the pose we call the Natalie Caughlin (the reason for this is not that funny of a story, so I won't share it, though is amuses us to no end).
And this picture here is my feet. Post race, post shower (okay, annie? now get off my back), these are the feet that pounded out those two hills, that long, tedious five mile stretch on Ocean Parkway, the finish line on the boardwalk, and all the miles and miles in preparation. So, excuse the feet love moment, but c'mon, it's my blog, I'll do what I want.