One way To Run A Half

One way to run a half-marathon: Fly 5,900 miles and arrive late evening the day after you depart.  Work 24/7 to prepare for coming week and don’t sleep on plane. Have late-night customer dinner and drinks.  Have the pre-race meal consist of Spanish tapas such as ham, fried Padron peppers, shrimp and potatoes.  Get three hours of jet-lagged sleep.  Walk a mile to the start and join 12,499 others in the bathroom lines and starting chute.

On the other hand, when you run through one of the most architecturally beautiful and interesting cities in the world with sunny cool weather and get the experience of crossing the finish line and having a medal placed around your neck, who could ask for more!

This adventure started a week after completing the Bay Breeze Half Marathon with Kim under sparkling sunshine along the east side of the San Francisco Bay.  The previous days of the week (and weeks prior) had been consumed with all the preparations and logistics for our company at the annual Mobile World Congress (MWC) in Barcelona.  Danny and I flew out on Friday night and arrived in BCN and the hotel around 9:00 p.m.  I had to remember to bring all my running gear – and suits, shirts and ties for the formal days that would follow.  Luckily, we got in uneventfully (though the return flights were a disaster).

My customer dinner got started late and ended late, but this is how meals go in Spain.  And since the food can be so good, I could not think about having bland pasta and water (like Danny had) when tapas and Rioja are so special.

As we migrated our way over to the hotel, we marveled at the fitness of the Spanish runners, everyone seemed to be in great shape and had that runner’s physique that is so recognizable.  We passed some of the Antoni Gaudi buildings that are visually spectacular and so much of Barcelona’s landscape and history.  Runners in neon-green half-marathons blended in with 19th century grey and white stone structures.

Check-in for the Mitja Barcelona Half Marathon was quick and easy and we messed with our gear as we got ready for the gun.  The starting chute was so filled with runners that it could not accommodate everyone and people were spilling out in the side street – but with chips in the shoes, it does not really matter.

Brilliant Spanish sunshine and cool temperatures greeted the explosion of the 25,000 feet as we walked/ran our way from the line.  Claustrophobia mixed with beauty as everyone tried to find some breathing space through the crowded streets of the city.

Danny was soon gone with the crowd and would run in a jaw-dropping effortless 1:34 and would have to wait almost thirty minutes for me to show up.

I started strong and on a steady 9:00/mile pace and got to the half-way mark at around 59 minutes.  I passed the  Sagrada Familia giant temple by Gaudi, the Poble Espanyol de Montjuic, the world-leading football club Barcelona FC stadium, through the tourist restaurants and drinking pubs of Las Ramblas – all in a semi-figure eight loop that never crossed the same sights twice.

As the weather warmed, my legs were tiring, sweat was dripping and the inevitable cramps were getting ready to make an appearance.  I drank, listened to my personal music and distracted myself with thoughts and planning for the upcoming MWC meetings.

Truth be known, I was more motivated by the afternoon siesta I planned for myself after the race and before the evening’s activities.  I thought about how delicious sleep would be and resting my weary legs and soul after the air and running journeys.

The kilometers clicked by; quicker than miles but a bit more aggravating since there were 21 of them.  As I got to kilometer 18 my goal was still in view – break 2 hours.  Amazingly, the effects of poor eating and lack of proper hydration the day before were not manifesting themselves; I felt pretty good all things considering.

But then I kind of bonked and the mile pace on my Garmin crept frustratingly upward.  As I ran the math in my head, I soon realized that my hope of 1:59 was not going to happen.  I did some run/walking and did my best to insure that I would finish and to really enjoy the people, scenery and the experience.

I could see the famous Arc de Triumf ahead (not the French one, but this version built in 1888 for the Barcelona Universal Exposition.)  Come on legs, keep moving I said (to myself)!  The end is near …

As so often happens, the finish line comes and goes and everything happens in a blur.  You cross, they place the medal around your neck and examine it while they cut the timing chip off your shoe.  You check your time overhead and the net time on your watch.  You vow to train better – next time.  You are handed water and bananas – no tapas here – and head off to find and retrieve your stored gear.

I wandered back to the check-in building and to find Danny who would have time to take a well-deserved nap by this time waiting for my slow body to return.  We checked each others times, did the requisite high-fives and started to make our way back to the hotel on limping legs.  And of course we got desperately lost and ended up taking a taxi back as we had walked way past where we should have turned.

Post race showers, food and drink are always heavenly and were no exception here.  As I slipped into the hotel bed for the Sunday afternoon nap (albeit for much shorter time than hoped), I could both relish the experience, thank the Running Gods for looking after me, and prepare myself mentally for the endless week ahead.

While business fortune shined on us at MWC with all of the organization paying off in spades, the satisfaction of  another medal that would eternally be in my collection was immense – in a very different way.

All that was left was for a memorable drive to the airport and the agony of missing flights and another sleepless night ahead.