music on the course: "it's your thing" -- the isley brothers
It was exactly one year ago that I toe'd the line for my first distance race, after Mrs. Pugh told me that she'd recently run the the Tulsa Half Marathon and wanted to have a go at the same distance in Little Rock. Having run recreationally for about 10 years, but never more than 6 miles at one singular time, I told her i'd give it a shot. The truth is, and i've never told anybody this, that I assumed i'd train with her for a month or so and drop out when the long weekend runs got to 10 miles. I couldn't comprehend myself being able to go a full 13.1. And the bizarre part about it all is that I was comfortable with this plan.
I'll never forget training for that first half marathon. It was crazy cold as hell when we'd run on Saturday mornings in late January and early February. After 8 miles my feet would hurt. Nine miles made my legs burn (I hadn't at that point learned to like the burn.) The 10 mile run came around and I barely finished it. I was really proud of my black Mizuno's I'd bought specifically for running. I realize now they were woefully inadequate, better suited for casual recreation than running races.
So it was with excitement and anticipation that we piled in Mrs. Pugh's big-ass SUV and made the trek to our state's capital to do some running. A homecoming of sorts. I look back on this year of running and can't help myself from crying. I'm so glad I never gave up.
Growing up in southeast Arkansas, going to Little Rock for a Saturday afternoon was a really fun treat. I can remember my parents piling my sister and I in the station wagon and taking us for the day, almost always with one of our friends in tow. We'd shop at McCain Mall and then eat dinner at Bennigan's. Those days were the best. I can also remember The Excelsior, the downtown hotel where we never had any reason to stay overnight, but still were aware that it was the swank, high-end property of Little Rock. You could see it from the interstate and I would always stare at it with awe and wonder as we drove by.
Today that property still stands guard over the newly revamped River Market District, but now as The Peabody Little Rock, a second location of the stately original Peabody in Memphis, Tennessee. We got checked in and immediately paused at the landmark event for the hotel -- the Peabody ducks. Five of them were in the fountain paddling about contently, as if they knew full well that they were the center of attention.
Dinner was at the Capital Bar and Grill, drinks were at Boscoe's. The temperature was in the low 30's, which isn't all that disconcerting the night before a run, but the wind was a whole other story in and of itself. It was blowing fiercely. Luckily, the local talking heads assured us as we watched the 10:00 weather forecast that the wind would die down overnight and be virtually nonexistent when the gun went off. Dude got it right this time. Thank God.
Race morning wasn't atypical: bagels, coffee, water, bathroom (unsuccessful this time), repeat. This was the first time that we'd qualified for a starting corral based on previous finishes, so we headed for Corral D with a bit of swagger in our posture. Okay, not really. But we were proud nonetheless.
Mrs. Murie, Mrs. Pugh, and myself saw Uncle Steph about 10 yards ahead of us in the pack. Stephanie, as always, was clearly in charge of a space that she'd found for herself amongst the runners of Corral D, and began to direct total strangers to move aside and make room for us. When I realized what she was doing, I laughed to myself at the antics of a great person and friend. I've known Steph essentially my entire life and would have never thought that we'd both become distance runners. I'm glad that we are.
About 10 minutes before the gun, as we stood around and stared at the crowds, Mrs. Murie felt something hit her in the head. She reported this phenomena to us rather abruptly, as if some rowdy, over-caffeinated runner was getting out of control and throwing gu chomps or something similar. So she lowered her head and, upon further inspection, we instantly realized that it wasn't a fellow runner that was naughty, but rather a bird. And it must have been a big bird.
Right there, smack in the middle of her cranium, was a pile of bird poop. This turn of events quickly attracted the attention of at least 10 runners nearby, as we hemmed and hawed about what to do. Ultimately a lady we didn't even know gave up a few squares of her coveted toilet paper so that I could get the birdsh*t out of her hair. Problem solved. Except that now I have a wad of toilet paper full of birdhs*t in my hands and nowhere to put it. And I'm about to run a half marathon. So I forced Mrs. Pugh to put it in her pocket. She complied. I thanked her.
Later, when she thought nobody was looking, she littered the toilet paper. I watched her do it. And laughed. Seconds later we heard the gun and saw the pack begin to move. It was time to race.
Here's the part of the story where I give away the ending: I pretty much ran like hell the entire 13.1 miles, only stopping ever so briefly at water stations, and once to pee (there was a perfect stretch of bushes in the middle of mile four), and once to shake the Governor's hand. He was standing in front of the Governor's mansion around mile 10 with a small entourage of Govenor-type people. They looked important. I stopped to shake his hand last year and it annoyed Mrs. Pugh. So I made up my mind a few weeks ago that if he were there again that i'd stop this time around as well. See you next year, Mike Beebe.
My hard work paid off, however, as not only did I get another piece of really big hardware in the form of a finisher's medal, but I also recorded a new PR, and came in under two hours for the first time. It wasn't without extreme duress, however, as Mrs. Murie and I sprinted for the final half mile. Like really sprinted. So much so that after crossing the finish line I began to hyper ventilate for about 30 seconds. I scared myself for a bit and pulled away from the crowd. After regaining my breath, I found Mrs. Murie, gave her a huge smile, and got my medal. The guy that handed it to me was good looking, so I bear hugged him. Pretty sure I surprised the hell out of him, but he was a good sport about it. Our official time was 1:59:13.
Up next are a St. Patrick's Day 8K in the Windy City over Spring Break with my good friends Jason and Sarah, the Bentonville Half Marathon in early April, and volunteering for the Hogeye Marathon the following weekend. All of this leads up, of course, to the main event, my second marathon in Oklahoma City. I'm about seven weeks out and, right now, feel more prepared and excited about it than I could have imagined. This weekend's long run is 17 miles and I'm already plotting routes and thinking about how much fun it's going to be.
A final shout-out to my mom and sister for being the best fans and supporters along the course last weekend. It makes me feel good to know they're waiting to cheer for me. These races are something that eigthteen months ago, I didn't think I would ever be able to do. They make me feel proud and content and I appreciate my family being a part of it.
Run.
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