I ran a half-marathon (and I didn't die (I was probably close)).

I ran a half-marathon today. And I'm proud of it, however the story goes much further back. As a kid I hated running, that was probably because I had exercise-triggered asthma and no one ever bothered to check (I was an hypochondriac already as a kid, and despite being always right no one listened to me). The worse things that could happen at school were having the 12-minute test or the Course-Navette, it didn't help that I was quite chubby. After school I stopped taking part in any sport that wasn't skiing, and I think I put on some more pounds. I spent my college years happily living in lazy-land (which happens to be a real land that I've just invented so shut up), I would actually think that people that ran were crazy maniacs, because seriously I'd rather go out at night and sleep until lunch time the following day (Catalan lunch time, which tends to be around 3pm). It all changed in 2012, when I decided that the couch days were over and that I needed to lose weight. I started running around August, but it was something that I did when I had time, or I felt like it, so I ended up running maybe four times per month. Still, it helped me lose weight (there's a post somewhere where I talk about my weight-loss process, but I don't feel like looking for it, so it's up to you to venture and find it). In January 2013 I took up running in a more serious way, I knew my limitations so I started slow and easy, yet by Easter (either late March or early April that year, can't remember) I was already running 15km, and at one point I ran 19. I took part in two 10ks that year, and I loved it, and I decided I wanted to run a half-marathon the following year (I was young, I was "fast", and I couldn't read the future that well). 

2013 happened to be a horribly warm year, and by June I was completely unable to run without melting in a puddle, so I decided to go back to cycling (and I have the feeling that I've already told this story, but again, I'm not going to go looking for it). Tragedy struck. I fell from my bike and broke my left wrist. Badly. I was wearing a cast for a month, including half of August (because I'm this lucky), and when I decided to go back running it felt as if someone wanted to kill me from the inside. I ended up disappointed, and I was soon packed to Mexico where I was completely unable to run because of the pollution. When I came back home I took up swimming (more on this some other time), and I was very afraid to go back to running. I guess that the problem with not running for a long period of time when you used to run a lot is that you know what you were able to do, and seeing that you can't do it anymore demoralizes you. Yet, I endured, and I was able to go back to run more than 12k in October (fresh from my journey in Ireland when I hiked more than 200km (including more than 90 in a three-day journey carrying my backpack)), and the full half-marathon distance in the forests a week after falling from my bike and, probably, breaking my elbow (I know probably sounds weird in here, but I needed to see four different doctors until one of them told me that it may be broken, before adding that nothing needed to be done, which I took as a free-pass to go back swimming). So, I was back to running and I was happy with it. It was time to sign up for a half-marathon. 

This takes us to a couple of months ago, when I signed up for the half-marathon. I was pretty excited because I had wanted to do this for two years, and I decided to train as much as I could to be perfectly fit for the day. I was crushing it, I improved my 10k time twice in two weeks. And then I decided to give blood because I hadn't done it in quite a long time, and because the reserves of blood of my blood type (A-) are always low (and because I happen to be a selfless person, or something). The following week of training was hell, and I fell sick with a cold just last week. I was mentally and physically destroyed, and I was convinced I could never do it. It didn't help that every time I went running this week I felt sharp pain in several places of my abdomen. I was sure I was going to die. Yesterday I spent the afternoon trying to convince myself that I could do it. I didn't need to run fast, only finish before the 2 hours and 30 minutes limit. I could do it. 

Last night I slept terribly, in part because I was nervous, in part because the cat decided to sleep with me and he's a heat source. Still, I woke up rested (I don't fully understand how), had breakfast and headed to the half-marathon, I warmed up with a lab-mate and friend, and I was ready to start the race. I started quite optimistically, feeling great, and naively thinking I could keep up with that pace. By the 5th km I wanted to die, I started feeling cold, and from then on it was a fight of my mind against my body, and my mind against my mind, as some part of it was telling me to stop and give up. My legs worked well, my lungs worked well, but I was cold, and I'm never cold (also the weather was fantastic). I still don't understand how I did it. I slowed down to be able to recover. I ate the energy gel (which by the way was disgusting and I really need to find one that doesn't taste like medicine). And people were cheering for us, I focused on taking the kms one at a time. I wasn't doing brilliantly, but I was enduring, and it also helped that there were some runners that were slower than me (it's cruel, but taking into account that I had gone to finish the race, seeing it was extramotivation). At the 19th km I started feeling even colder, I knew it was my body telling me to cut it off, that I had done enough already, but I was almost there! I think that km was the most miserable in my entire life, yet when I was approaching the final 1,000 meters I found some leftover energy that allowed me to enter the finish line at 2 hours 02 minutes. Forcing myself to keep walking was probably the hardest thing I ever did, because I felt as if I were going to faint at any minute. But I had done it, and faster than I had expected (much faster, taking into account the circumstances (actually the tracker says I did it in 1h 58min, but the tracker is a jerk sometimes, and I think the real time is going to be 2h and something)). 

As you can imagine this is a win for me. Not only because obviously it is, because there's not too many people who run a half-marathon, but because I'm the asthmatic girl who shouldn't even be able to walk due to ligament problems, and not only do I walk, but I run. And not only did I run a half-marathon, but I didn't have any kind of problem with my legs or with my lungs. And this is what I call a win, because I've shown myself that I can do it. Even when I doubt of myself, I can do it. 

Update: official time was 2:00:14!