Pregnant Race Report - Richmond Half Marathon

Months ago, when I was hiding my reasons for not putting together a racing schedule for the summer and fall, I tried to take some of the pressure off by announcing my plan to run the Richmond Half Marathon. I was moving to Richmond, it made perfect sense. (Why it was the only race on the calendar made significantly less sense.) I didn’t reveal that I wanted to waddle it instead of race it, as I hoped to be a few months pregnant at that point, but I wasn’t lying saying I wanted to do it.

I realized early on that I would miss the running scene. As soon as I started trying to get pregnant, I missed competing and suffering through the hard workouts beforehand. I missed the anticipation of race day, the excitement of the start, the enthusiastic spectators, the spilled Gatorade, the joy (and guilt-free food fest) at the end. I knew jogging a half marathon mid-pregnancy would not satisfy all those longings, but at least I’d experience the fun of race day and be around fellow runners (including my GRC teammates who were actually racing).

I didn’t have any plan for the race itself; pregnancy has a way of keeping you on your toes: some days you feel like a runner, some days like a balloon filled with lead. With a take-whatever-I-get attitude, I wasn’t at all nervous (an unheard-of race morning experience). I was just out to enjoy a long run with a few thousand people.

My only concern was how many times I’d need to stop to use the bathroom. General nervousness may be down, but the pre-race pee anxiety was increased by an order of magnitude. After one Porta Potty trip, I needed another but the line was too long and I had to skip it to make it to the start. Heading off to run 13 miles, nearly 5 months pregnant, already needing to pee? This is sure to go well.

I decided 8 minute pace was probably fair, which had the immense bonus of allowing me to run with Husband, something that never happens and made the race a lot more enjoyable. I’m used to pushing myself and fighting to beat those around me, but this race had an entirely different flavor and I wasn’t sure what I’d focus on. My focus (albeit a cheesy one) became how special it would be to run this race as a family.

We settled in the first few miles, trying to shake off the chilly air and savoring every sunny stretch. I giggled to myself listening to two runners discussing the crazy people ahead who could run 6-minute pace. Sigh, I used to be one of those crazies.

By mile four, there was no denying a bathroom break was imminent. I picked it up a bit in the hope that I’d be able to catch back up to Husband not long after. Amazingly/luckily/fortunately I’ve never had to stop in a race before, so the pee-and-dash was another new experience. I was in and out of that Porta Potty so fast I thought I was forgetting something. Are my shorts around my ankles? Is there TP on my shoe? But all seemed fine and before long I spotted Husband ahead. (An advantage of his height: he’s easy to find in races.) I picked it up to catch him and was shocked I felt good at that pace, but was also happily relieved to slow it down again when we reunited. I was reminded of Brother and his valiant effort in Boston 2011, but was well aware my own quick stop and catch up after having jogged a few miles is not exactly the same as what he did 17 miles into running a marathon at PR pace.

After that I felt better and was determined to stay with Husband. We knocked off shockingly even splits and, to my immense surprise, I didn’t have to stop to pee again. The course was autumn perfection, with gorgeous colors and leaves falling. But by mile 9 or so, I was getting a little bored; shocker: races go by slower when you’re going slower. I wasn’t used to not racing and I had to accept people passing me, something else new. (Ohh, I get passed all the time. I just usually hate it.) I thought about how someday, post-baby, I’d like to race this course for real and get back to being one of those 6-minute crazies. I started doing recon, thinking about what it’d feel like at this point, turn, etc. I may not be racing now, but one day…

With about half a mile to go, we made a turn to head down a long hill to the finish. I’d heard about this hill (and even seen part of it while spectating a few years back) but I was not prepared for how extreme the drop was. We were flying. And of course, husband, with his legs that are approximately the length of my body, was cruising down it at what seemed like world record pace (a disadvantage—for me anyway—of his height). I tried to keep up without falling over and rolling down the thing (a serious achievement while pregnant) and we finished side by side.

Post-race. 
Mom and Dad might not have PRed, but Baby did.

In yet another first, I realized later that my belly button—which has moved into its new pregnant, popped out position—got chafed, which has also certainly never happened before.

No matter how much you’ve run, there are always new experiences.

Dream big,
Teal

Gratitude: Part 2

Best #squad ever. (Photo by Melissa Barnes.) 

The Trials are over and people have been asking what will happen to the blog now. We’ll get to that next time, I promise. But, before moving on, there are a couple things that need to be said.

At the beginning of the season I wrote that I wanted to be grateful for the ability to run, even when things don’t go perfectly. (I think I did pretty well…) Now I want to take the time and space for a different type of gratitude: to show my thanks to all of you.

I apologize if this is too acceptance speech-y, but in general I don’t think people get enough thanks—or maybe I just don’t give them enough thanks. So here’s my feeble attempt to make up for it.

Thanks to... 

All of You

The Internet can be a dark, hateful place, but somehow I’ve found the Internet’s nicest commenters in the history of commenters. If you sent me a comment, message, tweet, like, etc. in the days before the Trials, after the Trials, or ever, please know it meant the world to me. Inspiration goes both ways, and hearing about all of you working towards your own goals inspires me. Let’s keep this feedback loop going!

My doctors

Remember when I nearly broke my femur last summer? My doctors didn’t tell me to give up running or that I was crazy to want to race the Trials in a few months. Instead they made a plan and got healing. So thanks to Drs. Epsley, Moran, and Hudson for not giving me the standard doctor-to-runner line, but for staying positive and getting me ready to go by the fall.

My GRC teammates

When I joined the team in 2012, I hoped my teammates would make me a better runner, but I had no idea by how much, nor how close we’d become. I now count my teammates among my best friends. The weekend long runs, the track workouts, the Pierce Peirce Mill meet ups, the endless Hains Point loops, none of it would be as fast or as fun without these girls. And their positivity and support, before and after every race, is amazing. When you have twenty superstar athletes telling you that you can do it, you start believing.

GRC's Trials watch party: sending good vibes from afar.

Coach Jerry

Coach Jerry gives every single athlete on our ever-expanding team so much personalized attention you’d think it was his full time job (it’s not). After the races that don't go as well as expected he always finds the positive spin, staying relentlessly hopeful. And every Wednesday night, he’s out at the track in the dark/cold/snow/squall juggling six stopwatches with numb hands. (Though he did get some heated gloves this season, thank goodness.)

Post race at the Brooks party with Coach.

My non-running friends*  

Yes, I have a life outside of running (sometimes) and friends that love me despite my obsession. Somehow these people put up with my lame early nights and overly detailed descriptions of my latest workout/race/blister. Three of my neuroscientist friends even came all the way to LA to cheer, surprising me with a neuro-centric sign at exactly the right moment.

(*Well, many of them run, but we didn’t meet through running. And I’m pretty sure they love me in spite of my running, not because of it.)

Willing to bet this is the only sign at the Trials with a
brain and neurons on it. Which makes it the best. 

My family

Over Christmas 2014, a few weeks after I qualified, a bunch of my family members insisted they would come see me race in LA. “That’s crazy,” I told them. “It’s too far, it’s too expensive…” I should not have doubted them. My family is that enthusiastic, supportive, and all together awesome that a horde of them (aunts, uncles, cousins) made good on their promise and came to LA. Those that couldn’t donned their shirts and watched from home. I never made it on the broadcast, but many Team Teal members did. They deserved their moment of fame (and much more), because their cheers carried me through the race. (As did the cheers I could feel from back home.) 

Team Teal. There were actually more than pictured here... 

Brother

Brother was the first inspiration for this dream, before marathons were on my radar. When I was a freshmen in college, he competed in the Hawaii Ironman, a race he had dreamed of qualifying for for years. I saw the work that he put in to qualify, how crazy awesome the goal was (the Hawaii Ironman is the World Championships), and the elation when he achieved it. At eighteen, I wondered if I’d ever be as passionate about something or do anything nearly as incredible.

Years later, Brother went on to be a favorite character of this blog. Whether he was helping pace me or trying to beat me, his efforts made me a better runner. But his Ironman journey had already made me a dreamer.

Brother cheering. This shirt is my favorite of his race day shirts.

Sister

In the summer before I started high school, Sister somehow convinced me that running is not “the most boring sport on the planet” (my words) and that I should give it a try. She’s now a successful lawyer, but I’d argue (though not as well as her) that convincing me to run was her biggest victory. (She’s also responsible for Brother’s successful running career, mostly because, as a child, he didn’t want to be beaten by his little sister. A trait he carries to this day.)

She was a star runner in high school and I always (still) look up to her competitiveness and drive. We ran our first marathon “together,” but she dropped me in the first mile and has never raced me since. (Which is probably the strategy Brother wishes he’d taken.) In my eyes, she’ll always be the star, but—even if we disagree on that—she’s undeniably the spark that started the Connor running clan.

With Sister. Oh hey, running's not so boring after all.

Mom and Dad

Obviously there are too many thanks to fit here. Here’s just one example of their level of endless support: my parents still come to all my “meets.” They used to come to my cross country and track meets in high school, which I thought was pretty standard (okay, I was spoiled). When they started coming to all my marathons, all around the freaking country, I finally realized I had some spectacularly supportive parents. I think they thought I’d be satisfied with running one marathon, but have somehow supported me through 13, coming to 11.

And they don’t just come to stand at the finish line. Oh no, they drive around, squeeze onto the overcrowded T, and race along the course to see me at as many spots as humanly possible. (Which is more spots than possible for most humans.) They decorate water bottles, t-shirts, and go searching for that jar of peanut butter I forgot to pack. My parents always go above and way beyond in supporting me (and not just in running, of course).

Mom, Dad, (and Husband, below) are all my #1 fan(s). 
(Right photo by Melissa Barnes.)

Husband

The lame Friday nights, the weekend mornings overtaken by long runs, the travel to and from races, the pasta, oh, the endless pasta… This Run Washington piece says it best: spouses don’t get enough credit. Husband has been to 12 out of my 13 marathons (we’ll give him a pass on the first since he didn’t know me yet), but even more incredible is that he’s put up with me in the days leading to those 12 marathons.

He’s held the watch at the track (rain or shine), paced me on the bike (rain or driving wind), wiped away the tears from non-PRs, injuries, tragedies. He both supports my (sometimes) delusional reasoning about why I’m ready for a massive PR and simultaneously keeps me sane. (The CIM race report captures this double duty best.) And when things go well, he is every bit as excited as me, (as he deserves to be, for all he’s done to get me there!) which makes it that much more fun when they do.

(Husband is also the one man design team behind all this: the reason this site is much more than black text on a white background and the reason those Team Teal shirts were so awesome.)

Husband's pass said "Athlete Support." That's one way to seriously understate it.
(Photos by Melissa Barnes.)

Sometimes people ask how I get the confidence to go after my big dreams. These people are how. Thank you all.

Dream big (and thank those that help you do so), 

Teal