Las Vegas Half Marathon Race Recap: For This One, Close Counts.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t set a half marathon PR in Las Vegas. My PR time is 2:38:41, and I clocked in at 2:41:46. So it was close, but I didn’t quite get it.

The good news? I ran 20 minutes faster that my most recent half marathon. But the best news is that I had fun the entire time.

So let’s start at the very beginning. (A very good place to start.)

I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself during the day of the race. I’m used to waking up, eating my usual pre-run breakfast, and heading out the door to the start line. The whole “you have the whole day to do whatever” thing really threw me for a loop. Goose headed down to a sports bar to watch football and gamble, but I opted to lay around in bed for a little while longer before meeting Luke for lunch. When you’re racing at the end of the day and have ulcerative colitis, lunch is a scary thing. I opted for a very safe turkey sandwich, and that seemed to be a good decision.

I drank water like it was my job.

I pinned on everyone’s race numbers who would let me, making sure they were perfectly straight. I re-pinned my own several times. (So don’t tell me if it looks crooked in the pictures!) I attached shoetags and timing chips. I got antsy. And finally, when there was nothing else left to do, I got ready.

So obsessed with my arm warmers.

I spent a little time admiring my arm warmers after I got ready. The left one had names of people with Crohn’s and colitis, people I was running to honor, including my own. On the right, I had written two things. Forward is a (fast!) pace, and Promise me you’ll always remember: you’re braver than you believe, stronger than you realize, and smarter than you think. – A. A. Milne. I loved those arm warmers. Correction: I love them. I want a new pair for every single race that’s cool enough to wear them. They made me so happy.

Eventually, we headed down to the lobby to find the rest of Team Challenge Illinois, get pumped up, and take a trillion pre-race photos.

Team Illinois!

It was a bit like prom or a wedding. Lots and lots of pictures.

Pre-race photo with Goose. Friends, please note the drink in his hand and try really hard to act surprised.

With running buddy extraordinaire, Luke. Yes, he did run the whole 13.1 miles in his hospital gown.

Then, I decided to try to scare Frank, my colitis, away by making scary threatening faces and trying to intimidate it.

Look! I'm so super scary.

Friends, that experience taught me one thing. If your colon is fine, do not mock it by telling it how tough you are. As Luke, Goose, and I sat around munching on pre-race food and waiting to head outside, I suddenly knew I had to get to a bathroom immediately. Good thing we were at the host hotel/race starting area and everything was swamped. I gave up, grabbed a room key, and prayed the elevator wouldn’t take too long, then bolted to the room as fast as my little legs could carry me.

I drank some water, tried to calm my nerves, and listened to reassurance that I would be okay and I shouldn’t psych myself out.

We headed over to the crazy-crowded starting area, making a porta potty stop on the way, and I began to feel calm again. We snapped more photos, and it was determined that Luke and I can seriously rock a garbage bag.

Hey everyone! Come and see how good I look!

Despite the fact that we were in Corral 17, the race started pretty quickly. One minute I was dancing to the Blues Brothers (I know, I know, using too much energy before the race. I tried to stop. I couldn’t help it.) and the next minute we were crossing the starting line. Goose headed off at his own pace, and Luke and I had plans to stick together for the whole race. I wasn’t sure it would happen, given that his natural pace and mine are a bit different, but he needed to take it easy and I had a PR to set, so we figured it just might be perfect.

It was.

During the first few miles, I chattered incessantly. When I wasn’t talking, I was thinking about how lucky I was to be racing. To be proving to myself that I could still do this — that no matter what setbacks I faced this summer, I’m still stronger than my colitis. At one point, Luke looked over at me and said, “You’re just smiling so big.” I didn’t realize it until he said it, but I was running with a giant dopey grin plastered on my face. I was thrilled to be running on clippy legs with my new friend beside me.

Hey lady, get out of the picture that we are CLEARLY not posing for. This is how we run.

At mile 7, I looked at Luke and whined, “Why is it going by so quickly?!” He assured me that was a good thing, but I couldn’t believe how fast the miles were ticking by, without me noticing much at all. Don’t worry, I still took time to celebrate every single mile by cheering and high-fiving Luke. But that, and smiling a lot, are really the only things I remember from the first half of the race. Just being happy.

Around mile 8, I knew it was still possible to PR, but I knew I was going to have to dig deep. We were right on the edge. This is where I got quiet. I spent two miles repeating in my head, You are stronger than you think. You are stronger than you think. Over and over again I said it. I looked at the names on my arms and kept plugging along.

We got to mile 10, and it was still possible, with some serious pace maintaining (which is not my strength) to get the PR. I was nervous about how close we were, and wasn’t positive we’d quite get it. I kept repeating my mantra, over and over. You are stronger than you think. When it became too hard to think about myself being strong, my head switched to a new mantra. Just stay with Luke. He’s got you. At this point, Luke was still plugging along, and I figured I could just hold on for dear life for the last 5k.

And then? We didn’t quite get there. I pushed as hard as I could, and Luke did everything in his power to get me across that line in PR time. It just didn’t happen. Because that PR was eleven minutes faster than my previous PR, I actually didn’t get bent out of shape over it. I crossed the finish line happy and proud. I worked hard. I ran a good race. I pushed myself. And I showed my colitis, once and for all, that it is not going to mess with my dreams.

It's like Where's Waldo?! Just look for the tall boy in the hospital gown. I'm the little one to the left.

After the race, we naturally took the opportunity to snap some photos with the giant diseased colon that was there.

The plan? Strike a pose, then show our true feelings for UC. Mission accomplished.

At the end of the day, I’m thrilled with this race. Yes, I set out to PR. Yes, I talked a big game and had tons of support and encouragement to PR. No, I didn’t end up doing that. But I did something more important. I had lots of fun, and I proved to my colitis, but more importantly, to myself, that nothing can take away my dreams. Not even ulcerative colitis.

And that is worth celebrating. Messy hotel room and all.

Whew. That was long, and I didn’t even tell you about the expo or post-race celebrations yet. In due time. Right now, I want to know something about your weekend! Did you race? Did you wear trash bags? Did you think happy thoughts? Tell me!