Fit-to-Fat-to-Fat Blog: The Mississippi Blues Half Marathon

The baked potato.

The Medal.

I took a final exam today without properly studying.

The Mississippi Blues Half Marathon was a total gut check for me. I finished solely because my mind wanted it more than my body.

Getting ready to run in front of the Old Mississippi Capitol.

My last long run (14 miles) was December 15th. My book tour, an infected tooth, travel and bad shoes all played into my layoff.  My left knee was sore from the bad shoes.  I’m sure the penicillin wasn’t exactly a performance enhancer. I attempted a five mile run last Monday. I did it – but re-aggravated my knee.

Don’t ask me how I didn’t have a heart attack. My heart ran above it’s “redline” most of the race.  As I charged up and down the hills of Jackson, my heart rate monitor read 180-200 beats per minute.  That’s insanely high for me. My heart normally beats at 150 beats per minute when I run races.  My body did me no favors.

But I didn’t walk a step.  I’m proud of that. My time, 2 hours 30 minutes, was far from a personal record.

But I did it.

Looking toward the start on State Street.

And I had a great time. I ran with my friends Chuck and Jim and we joked and talked most of the way.

I’ve run one whole marathon, seven half marathons and numerous 10Ks and 5Ks. Each race has its’ own personality. Weather, course conditions, crowd size all make a race that might be the same distance into a completely different animal.

Today’s race had nearly perfect weather. It was cold, cloudy and dry (the rain thankfully held off). The crowd size was a nice size (as opposed to some of the 55,000-person races I’ve run).  It was crowded at the start, but thinned out nicely as the mileage passed.

We started right in front of the Mississippi Old Capitol. The emcee counted down (no gun, thankfully) and off we went. Of course, my shoe immediately came untied — so I had to stop and tie it over on the side.  State Street,one of the main roads in Jackson,  is a roller coaster packed full of hills. We traveled past Baptist Medical Center, Millsaps and UMMC.  We cut through Fondren and down Old Canton. From there, we cut into Woodland Hills and up the I-55 frontage road.  From there, we ran back to Lakeland Drive to Riverhills Drive.  And then we entered the hilly Hell known as Belhaven. At that point, I told Chuck, “Just think, Eudora Welty used to run on these roads.”

Need Lube for your crack? This was at mile 7 in Belhaven.

He died laughing.  Just the thought of Eudora running was silly enough to crack us up. It gave us something to think about other than the hills.

Half the race was over.

My heart rate started spiking up into the 180’s. Why? I apparently had lost a lot of fitness during my layoff. But I kept after it. As tired as I felt, I knew I couldn’t quit.  And my knee felt good.  I had gotten new shoes on Thursday (yes, I ran on brand new shoes — a recipe for disaster.)

Three wheel chair racers passed us. I have two words to describe them: Bad asses. Period.  Watching them grunt up a hill made me realize what the heart is truly capable of.

I can tell you from experience that a race succeeds on the back of its volunteers.  The Mississippi Blues Marathon (and Half) has some of the best volunteers of any race I’ve run.  People directing traffic went out of their way to thank us for running.  It’s not the most scenic course (and it is definitely a tough course) but the hospitality makes it one of the best race experiences I’ve ever had. Kudos to my friends at Mississippi Blue Cross/Blue Shield. You done good.

Even though it was cold, several people came out to cheer on the runners.

We crossed over Fortification (and dodged several child-sized potholes) and entered Belhaven Heights on our way back to toward the Fairgrounds.  My heart rate was holding steady, so I knew I’d make it.  We were at mile eight and I was eating GU regularly (imagined eating flavored sunscreen). Up Jefferson, around downtown and into West Jackson we went.  Right next to Jackson State, I shook hands with Jackson Mayor Harvey Johnson.  I’m amazed he didn’t punch me in the nose.

The last three miles were brutal. My legs felt fine but my heart was hovering near 190 beats per minute.  At two hours, the eventual winner (and new course record holder) passed me like I was standing still.  I realized that he’s a Philly. I’m a Clydesdale.

Heading toward the King Edward and the Standard Life Building. A lonely stretch.

Race organizers like to throw a big hill at the end of a race. It must make them tingle — I know it gives them their jollies.  Our hill was Capitol Street.  So for about four blocks, I could see the finish line.  Normally I sprint.  My tank was empty.

I heard my name called out as I crossed the finish line.  They wrapped aluminum around me, to warm me and to make me look like a giant Wendy’s potato.  Then I got the biggest medal I’ve ever gotten — it was a huge guitar.  I stumbled around the finishing area as my heart desperately tried to get oxygen to my brain.  I didn’t WANT to fall out. But it was an option.

My light-headedness soon was replaced with a sense of pride. Of all the races I’ve run, this one was the hardest. And one of the most meaningful.  I ran it strong. I gutted it out. I overcame the odds.  It was a nice metaphor for my life right now.

I want to thank my friends Chuck and Jim. If you ever shop at Fleet Feet, ask for them. They will take excellent care of you.  I saw BCBS’s John Sewell and thanked him for the great job they had once again done on putting on a successful race. Other than a couple of runners lost in potholes, it was a home run.

Coming up on the Finish Line. 13.1 miles in the can.  I don’t remember taking this picture.

My heart rate quickly returned back to normal as I munched on Red Beans & Rice and listened to some great Blues music.  And at that moment, I made a vow to myself:

Next time I will do my homework and properly train.

Promise.