How to Run a Half Marathon with No Training

I am not a runner. I also don't go to the gym. There are some people out there who possess the discipline and gumption to dedicate a few hours of their day to pain and misery. People who develop a routine, follow it, and get desired results. People who thrive off that endorphin rush and choke down that creatine and take pictures of their progress in the mirror. I am not one of these people. Setting a regimented training schedule and sticking to it is something I find extremely undesirable. I used to be a runner, but that was a long time ago. Since then I've ran off and on, but not to the extent to where I'd call myself a "runner." Usually, I'd run for a week to build up some cardio for a big hike. And as for strength training, a steep trail is much more preferred than a StairMaster. Yep, I am not a runner. What I am is an idiot.

I've done a lot of stupid things in my life. Running a half marathon with no training is up there with some of the stupidest. Sleep was scarce the night before the race. Woke up feeling like a crumpled $50 bill. Gobbled up some oatmeal with peanut butter and washed it down with a healthy amount of caffeinated tea. I don't normally drink caffeine but today was an exception. I imagined it would turn me into the Energizer Bunny.

I met up with Ry, who graciously decided to run the race with me and help with pacing. We parked near the start, got out, prepared for a warm-up, and then Ry realized he forgot his racing bib. Uh oh. Looked like we were gonna have to meet up with each other at the start.

As Ry burned rubber back to his place, I jogged down the road to the start line, the crisp morning air burning my hands and ears. Other runners were out and about, stretching, trotting, repeating actions that they'd likely been doing for months in preparation for the event at hand. I was able to get a few stretches in before the national anthem. After that, I kinda just bounced up and down, trying to activate the caffeine in my system. 

I met up with Ry and we positioned ourselves somewhere in the middle of the huge throng of runners. It was a wave start, so the race officials only let certain chunks of people go at a time. The race began, and the first wave was off. And then the second, then the third. Waves of folks kept on getting sucked through the corral, me and Ry stepping closer and closer to the inevitable. Three...two...one...and off we went, jogging down the road without ever looking back. 

Felt good the first couple of miles. Ry and I talked a lot, our conversations revolving around snippets of life stories, the future, and running. We were the only ones talking. Everyone else was locked in, not wanting anything to distract them. Too busy keeping track of their breathing and cadence and whatnot. Very serious. There were a few times, however, where our conversations grabbed the interest of other runners. There was this one guy, probably early 40's, who talked with us for a bit. Said he wanted to keep on running for as long as he was able. Said at least 38 more years. I thought of making a dumb joke that this race had an end and that he couldn't keep on running and that Forrest Gump only managed three years but I thought better and kept my mouth shut. 

As the miles progressed the rate of conversation declined, at least on my end. The race was sucking the loquaciousness out of my body. Carrying a conversation became more and more labored. Luckily, the caffeine was making its presence felt, but not without consequence. There was a strange storm brewing within. Felt it around mile 4. Thought I could control it. Thought I could suppress it. But it kept getting worse. A few miles later and this storm was about to make landfall. I shifted gears and went full throttle down the course, Ry remarking that we had significantly increased our pace. We made it to the aid station, I zooming past the volunteers and water straight to the portable toilets. The first one I nabbed was locked, the second was not. I opened it up and saw that the seat had a nice glaze of sweat. Didn't care. I weathered the storm. 

Feeling much better and much lighter, I caught up to Ry and we continued on our way. We were catching people left and right, passing those who probably went out too fast in the beginning. I tried passing someone on the right and nearly ran into them; they were not too happy about that. Oh well. Can't have a race good race without a little bit of drama. 

Everything was going swell until around mile 10. At this point I was practically nonverbal, only able to utter a few words. My legs were telling my brain that they'd had enough, that they didn't understand why my brain woke up one morning and made them run so far for so long for no reason. They were beginning to lock up, and keeping them going was progressively becoming more excruciating. 

Ry kept a good pace, offering much needed motivation. We tried catching up to this one dude, but he kept on trucking, refusing to let us pass. We'd run right up to him and push the pace, and then he'd push back. Since we were running neck and neck for a while, him and Ry eventually broke into conversation. I wasn't really paying attention to what they were saying. Too busy trying not to puke. Seemed like my legs had made a deal with my stomach to get me to stop. Sly fellows those two are. 

I heard that the dude was a carpenter and that he was running much faster than he had planned and that was about all I picked up from the conversation. I slowed down at an aid station to grab some water and that was that—we were never able to catch him again. From then on my pace kept slowing, our splits no longer negative. Ry kept on motivating me, offering uplifting words of encouragement. I now could barely talk, let alone whisper. All of the energy in my body had evaporated, I felt like a hollow shell. 

By some miracle we caught up to one of the official pacing groups, and not too long after, they made an announcement that I'd been waiting to hear all day: "Ok guys, break away, break away! One mile to go, you got this!" The group fractured, some sticking behind and others finding another gear and zipping on towards the finish. Ry and I slowly broke away, I unable to find any gear that could propel me out of this misery. 

That last mile actually went by pretty quick. Kinda just turned off my brain and trudged along, making sure I never widened the gap between me and Ry. If it wasn't for him and his rallying words of encouragement I probably would have stopped. We rounded a corner and entered the home stretch, the booming screeches of onlookers motivating the runners to the finish line. Ry picked up the pace, I tried to stay with him, and before I knew it we were both across the finish line. 

I kept going. If I stopped I was sure that my legs would give out. They needed to cool down a bit. I jogged a bit past the finish line up the street and then jogged back, meeting up with Ry. We then walked for a little bit, observing all the other folks who were either stretching or massaging their legs or just laying there pale and motionless, hands over their eyes wheezing. 

I don't think I'll ever do something like that again. It was really stupid. But also interesting. Learned a few things about myself that I would have never learned otherwise. It was a good time. One for the memory books. One thing's for sure: I ain't never drinking caffeine before a race again!