If you’ve ever run a road race, you know that you get a medal upon crossing the finish line (at least in any reputable race). The participant trophy, as it’s been accurately labeled. This is one of the reasons I run. For the bling. Today I ran my third half marathon. But I started thinking when en route to the race, they ought to give runners a medal just for getting to the start line. Let me explain.

Most half marathons start very early. Today’s race started at 7 am. It was a point-to-point race, not an out and back or a loop, so parking at the start line wasn’t a good plan (one would need a way back to the start line, 13.1 miles away, after the race, in order to get their car). So for this race, runners all met at the finish area of the half marathon course. We hopped on city school buses that shuttled us to the start line, about a 20 minute drive north. But let’s rewind further.

Preparation for all this coordinating starts weeks ahead of the actual event. Half marathon training (actual running) aside, looking at the race logistics starts early with a review of race start time, the course, drive time to get there, weather, etc. Parking garages: what if they’re all full? What if there is construction at 5:30 am on the bridge on a Sunday morning and it takes an hour to get to the race when it should only take half an hour? What about my stuff – wallet, phone, water, breakfast, on-course fuel, clothes? What will the temperature be at the beginning of the race vs at the end? A 10+ degree difference? Rain? What if I get assaulted in the parking garage or attacked by a dog? What if I’m in a deserted portion of the course, all alone, and break my ankle and need to call for help? What if I get lost? What if my hamstring tears or I go into ventricular tachycardia?

I had to consider all of the above in making my way to the race today. So, I went to bed semi-early. I had my breakfast packed the night before as well as my water – gallon jug and handheld water. I had written directions from Mapquest plus GPS navigation. I had scoped out the road closures days in advance. I woke up at 4 am, left the house at 5:11. Not another commuter was in sight as I weaved my way through the neighborhood streets. The typically very busy intersection at Tidewater Drive and Widgeon was barren. I played no music, but looked around at the vacant shop parking lots to my right and the mechanic’s shop to my left. All still, making it feel akin to Christmas morning. The interstate felt a bit like a roller coaster in my now 23-year-old pick-up truck. Bump! Bump! Bump! I hoped the whole way it would make it. Through the construction on the interstate and then over the Willoughby bridge and through the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel – to the other side. Hampton then Newport News.

I was able to get to my designated parking garage without too much trouble. Hat, sunglasses, dry bag, water, oats in tow, I made my way to the shuttle buses. Thankfully a lot of other runners were meandering about, so I followed the crowd. I made my way toward the buses headed for the marathon start line, but thankfully people were around to redirect me to the buses headed to the half marathon start line. Disaster averted. I made a friend on the bus ride and overheard other runners discuss their goals and where they were from. A friendly and encouraging (not to mention fit!) group, people I wouldn’t mind being around should the zombie apocalypse break out.

The shuttle made it to the start line, about 40 minutes before the race was to begin. The sun was rising and it was about 44 degrees Fahrenheit. Cold. While waiting around, I hit the porta potties a few times, observed the serious runners warming up before the race (in my mind, 13 miles allots plenty of time for warm-up), and called my husband to let him know I made it. I even snapped a picture of a flowering dogwood. I kept my layers on till it was time to line up, then checked my gear at the dry bag tent where the woman working there assured me my stuff would be at the finish line for me at the end of the race. I said hello to my childhood’s best friend’s mother, who was at the start line and part of a pace group. She doesn’t look a day older than she did 25 years ago. Maybe running does have an anti-aging effect. The chatter stopped as the national anthem was sung. In the stillness I observed the many brands of running shoes on the feet of hundreds of runners, brands I’ve worn personally: Sauconies, Brooks (my favorite), Hokas. The horn sounded, and we began our 13.1 mile trek (the .1 makes a difference). I overheard one woman say this was her first half marathon. All kinds of people trotting through Newport News. Out-of-staters, foreigners, blacks, whites, big, small, male, female, first-timers and seasoned racers, even fast and slow, elite and non. The temperature warmed as the sun rose and I was able to gradually get faster, running the second half of the race faster than the first. Down a major boulevard, through a park, along the water, in a pretty neighborhood, through a college campus, past a shopping center, through the Newport News Shipyard. I passed a recliner on the side of the road at mile 9. Someone had labeled it “Quit Chair” and had comically placed a small table next to it that held cheese puffs and Little Debbie Cakes. A sign on the table said, “You’re not almost there.” Haha.

In the park, my hamstring didn’t rip. I wasn’t attacked by a dog or another runner. I didn’t break my ankle or go into v-tach. I’m happy to say that this morning I did take the time to admire the pristine college campus and say “thank you” and wave to a few of the volunteers and especially to the shuttle bus driver. Not my fastest race, but a fun one. I started it without much expectation. I enjoyed all the prep and the journey itself. I’m glad I made it to the start line. And the finish line, where I received my participation medal for having finished what I started. ~